Misadventured Overthrows
by The Master Planner
Summary: A mistake in timing and exceptionally bad luck on Peter Parker’s part allows his archenemy Doctor Octopus to marry his beloved Aunt May. When she turns up missing, Spidey pursues the likeliest suspect, whose guilt is beyond question…or is it? SXL spinoff
1. Prolouge: Sober, by Peter

Misadventured Overthrows

A mistake in timing and exceptionally bad luck on Peter Parker's part allows his archenemy Doctor Octopus to marry his beloved Aunt May. When she turns up missing, Spidey pursues the likeliest suspect, whose guilt is beyond question…or is it? This is a spinoff of Star-Crossed Lover.

The Standard Disclaimer: All characters involved were created and owned by Marvel Comics. All quotes belong exclusively to their owners. And if I were really making any money off any of this, would I _seriously_ live in a rathole studio typing this story on a _library_ computer!

Dramatis Personae: Peter Parker, May Parker, Dr. Otto Octavius, Mac Gargan, Norman Osborn, Felicia Hardy, Mary Jane Watson

Author's Note: There are three sides to this story: Peter's side, Otto's side, and the truth. This story's unconventional format provides the first and second; it is up to the reader to discern the third. I would also advise you to go to my profile and read "Star-Crossed Lover," if you haven't already. Then go back and read it again up to Chapter 9. I'll be waiting for you right here.

Are you done? Okay! Well, let's begin, and remember, whether old or new, read and review! My personal policy is to answer all reviewers, so after you read this chapter, go ahead and click the button labeled "Submit Review" and give me any compliments, _constructive_ criticism, or questions that come to your mind. 

Prolouge: Sober, by Peter Parker

"_I am just a witless liar,_

_I am just an imbecile._

_I will only complicate you,_

_Trust in me and fall as well._

_I will find the center in you,_

_I will chew it up and leave._

_I will work to elevate you—_

_Just enough to bring you down."_

Tool, "Sober"

_I've made a few gaffes back in the day, sure. I still do, because there's only ever been one absolutely perfect Person in existence, and He hasn't been around in two thousand years. I'm known in the superhero circles as a guy who can go from failure to spectacular failure with style and aplomb. _

_However, I believe most people make their big mistakes not in their workplaces, but in their personal lives. How else can you explain the fifty percent divorce rate and the existence of Jerry, Maury, Judge Judy, and emo? Everyone's victimized and betrayed by someone they trust at least once in their lives. Nobody gets away unscathed in this arena. So, I promised myself early on I'd follow my instincts instead of my heart. It isn't easy advice to follow. In fact, I hardly follow it myself._

_Here's what I mean. Most of us become infatuated with certain people over the course of our lives. It's normal. That infatuation, in some cases, leads to marriage and the perpetuation of the human race, and more often in modern times, contraception prevents the perpetuation of the human race and modern mores warn against marriage. Once in a while, the infatuation works out and leads to a beautiful relationship, a sense of filial love and commitment taking over after a few months. Much of the time though, it doesn't. Infatuation is temporary, based on nothing more than chemical reactions in the brain. Unfortunately, that kind of attraction makes us do a lot of shit we would not ordinarily do. The solution to toxic people is simply to divert yourself away from them. It's difficult and you learn it the hard way. _

I put on the tuxedo, carefully knotting the bowtie in front of the bathroom mirror. Aunt May, sitting on her apartment bed, is already in her pearl-colored dress, folds falling to the ankle. "Thank you for inviting me to your wedding," I tell her. "I was afraid you were going to elope. Nothing would please me more than seeing you happy and in love."

"Oliver wanted to elope," May tells me, chuckling. "He wanted to keep it our little secret. From who, heaven knows."

"Maybe that's not the only secret he wants to keep." I twist a white carnation into a black buttonhole. 

"Whatever do you mean, Peter?" She stops laughing.

"I—don't think Oliver is the right man for you." There, it's out. "You know I only want what's best for you, and I fear that if you marry Oliver, things are going to go downhill fast."

May archly replies, "Excuse me, Peter, I am sixty-two years old. I have lived through the end of a world war, the beginning and end of a cold war, the murder of your parents by terrorists in a foreign land, raising a child, the murder of my husband, and two supervillain attacks. I'm far from senile. I know what's best for me."

"So you think Oliver's your Mr. Right the Second Time Around?"

May sighs her exasperation. "If I didn't think he was, I wouldn't be marrying him."

"Do you think you should get to know each other a little longer? I don't think a few weeks of dating is enough for a lifetime of commitment."

"Not for a man _your_ age, Peter. When you're as old as I am, time is of the essence. When you see your contemporaries die, when you see loved ones taken before their time, you get a sense of your own mortality."

"But this Oliver—"

"I understand you're not used to this, but you will have to accept him. The subject is _closed_."

It is not a good idea to further push my Aunt May after she says the subject of conversation is closed. I move to another topic. "Do you mind if I bring a guest to the wedding?"

"Mary Jane?" May beams, adjusting the circlet of white roses on her pale silver hair. "Lovely girl. You don't know how long Anna Watson and I had been trying to set you two up."

"No, Aunt May," I tell her. "We broke it off. I have a new girlfriend. Her name's Felicia."

She seems disappointed. "We're getting married at my Rosslyn Island in southeastern Canada," she informs me. "Oliver and I have hired a private helicopter, which will pick us all up at the address mentioned at the bottom of the invitation."

I flip out my cell and ask Felicia for tonight's new meeting spot. Who knew I would be doing this?

"Felicia, I have to talk to you about our relationship." I grasp her hands. By now, I'd changed into my costume. 

"Are you breaking up with me?" she pouts, and I remember Luke Wilson's unpleasant fate in _My Super Ex-Girlfriend_. 

"No! No, no, no! Of course not! Not at all! I just wanted to tell you that we're in love, and I can't bear to have any secrets to come between us. I want to share the most important part of my life with you."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm waiting."

I pull my mask off, revealing my real face. "My real name is Peter Benjamin Parker. I got my powers when I got bit from a radioactive spider on a high school field trip. Right now, I'm a science major at Empire State University."

"I thought you'd—look different."

_How? More like a hero? Like Clark Kent?_

"I told you this because I'm about to invite you as a guest at my aunt's wedding. She raised me, you know."

Great. Felicia seems utterly bored. She just found out that her glamorous superhero she idolized was just a regular Joe Blow college student who wants to go to his elderly aunt's wedding.

"The thing is, I need a really big favor out of you. I just found out my mad scientist archenemy is courting my aunt."

"Doctor Octopus?" She perks up.

"Yeah. Worse, my aunt just inherited her very own nuclear reactor and uranium mine. That's why he's rushing her to elope. We have to crash the wedding. Just wear a pastel-shaded dress and meet me at the address on this card. I'll come up with a plan."

"Sure." The corner of her smile twitches a bit. She runs off, yelling "And Spidey, one more thing—"

"Yes, Cat?"

"Put your mask back on!"

Just another day in the life of Peter Parker, called Spider-Man.


	2. By Myself, by Peter

Chapter 2: By Myself, by Peter

"_Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness,_

_Or do I trust nobody and live in loneliness?_

_Cause I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin_

_I make the right moves but I'm lost within_

_I pull out my daily facade but then_

_I just end up getting hurt again!"_

Linkin Park, "By Myself"

_Sometimes--wait--_all_--of what we call romantic love tends to be an exercise in self-delusion. Instead of falling in love with another person, we fall in love with _our image_ of a person. If we don't truly know our partner, we are free to make him or her whoever we want, to ascribe all of our ideals on this person. And in turn, as our partner ascribes her or his ideals on you, you act as though you are the partner of their romantic dreams. You put on a mask. You become an actor. In fact, you could say infatuation is a temporary blindness._

_Then there suddenly comes a point where we know our partner, truly know them--and no, I am _not _using the word in the Biblical sense, you dirty-minded bloggers--I mean know and see them for who they are, when all illusions are stripped away. This point is usually reached sometime after the marriage ceremony. Suddenly, the woman of your dreams, for whom you wore impeccably sharp suits to make a good impression on her, unpleasantly finds that in real life and when left to your own devices, you attire yourself in ratty, stained t-shirts that say things like "I'm Out of Bed and Dressed, What More Do You Want?" and you consider sniffing a pair of socks is an infallible test of its level of cleanliness. And in turn, you find that the woman of your dreams, who had previously acted as though yours was the only face in the world worth seeing, is more prone to take the side and advice of her mother than her husband. _

_And suddenly you both find yourself in divorce court, sitting quietly while your lawyers scream at each other from across the room about who gets what. _

I fumble with the package of coffee straws, intended to be arranged into the small receptacle on the counter next to the napkins and the trash bin. After thirty seconds of prolonged yanking at the plastic wrapping, the straws burst out of their confinement, every single one flying to the floor. 

"Parker, you idiot!" my boss screams. "Pick those straws up and throw them out! You've just wasted a perfectly good package of coffee straws!" 

"Yes, Miss LaCroix." Sighing, I dutifully fetch the broom and dustpan, dealing with only the latest in a very long line of indignities. Why the hell does Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man, who could tear this Hot Topic denizen of a Starbucks manager limb from skinny limb, take this from her? No wonder Felicia said I didn't look like much of a hero. 

I mean, the whole wimpy image is good for a secret identity, but the whole secret identity thing is quickly becoming absolutely useless. Why do I keep it up?

To protect my girlfriends? Mary Jane has been personally attacked by four supervillains so far. Felicia has just dumped me. So has Mary Jane.

To protect my aunt from enemies? She's been visited by supervillains as well. Hell, I can't even prevent my archenemy from _marrying_ her. 

To win respect from the public? You haven't read the _Daily Bugle _lately, have you buddy?

I know why I'm a superhero in the first place. I'm just starting to wonder why I do it _anonymously_. I mean, Johnny Storm and Anthony Stark are sitting pretty. They have it all--money, fame, sweet headquarters, an adoring public, a blonde on one arm and a brunette on the other. Peter Parker? _His_ life is a Linkin Park song. 

"Parker!" LaCroix shouts at me. "Behind the counter!"

I put the customer's cup of mocha underneath the milk-foaming machine. Instead of going into the cup, it goes to my face. I bend over, look at the spout, and press the lever again. Naturally, it goes to my face again. Groping for the napkins, I trip over the dustpan, still where I left it, and not yet relieved of straws. 

"Parker, I don't know what to do with you," LaCroix says. "Actually, I _do_. You're fired."

"Miss LaCroix," I plead. "I need this job."

"Yeah, you and a hundred other _less clumsy teenagers." She shoves a napkin in my hands._

"But _please_--" I mumble, wiping my face.

Her answer needs no words to convey its meaning. With the grace of a Spainiard matador, LaCroix steps closer and with one hand whips my green Starbucks apron off. 

_Well, maybe I shouldn't be such a pessimist. I don't have to worry about my girlfriends being jumped by any superpsycho who wants to rattle my cage. _

_And lucky for you guys, until I find another job, I have more time to blog. Enjoy. _

_Of course, there is still those other unresolved matters, for one..._

"I _know_ I'm late again, Dr. Connors," I say. 

"What can possibly be more important than your education, Parker?" Dr. Connors asks. "_Especially_ for a student with so much potential?"

"My job is unorthodox and demanding," I tell him. 

"And your job is--?" he asks. "I'm only trying to help you, Parker. You can take time-management courses at the Empire State Business School, if you think that would help."

"I take pictures of Spider-Man for the _Daily Bugle_," I explain. "Where he goes, I have to go. And Jameson doesn't trust other photographers."

Connors walks away, shooting me a withering glance. "Spider-Man needs to get a life. Is he what's keeping you from your studies?"

_Well, yeah, that's one way to put it. _"I have an elderly aunt to support."

He stops in his tracks, raising his one hand to make a millimeter-long space between his thumb and forefinger. "You're _thisclose_ to flunking, Parker. You have a paper on supernovae which will be overdue in two days. You're lucky I accepted your previous paper on fusion so late without docking the grade."

"I was juggling other commitments, and engaging in extended interviews with the subject of the paper."

_Those "interviews" involved keeping the subject of the paper from robbing banks and blowing up the freaking city, Connors, give me a goddamn break._

_And speaking of the aforementioned subject..._

_No, don't think about Doc Ock right now. I mean, he won't let anything happen to her. I mean, he's not going to marry her for a couple days and I can't risk tipping him off._

I head to the library, buckling down to my studies. Two hours later, it's complete. Sighing with relief, the supernova paper emerges from the printer. I pay the librarian, knowing that Connors isn't going to be pissed off at me for once. _"Good job, Parker," _he'd probably say. _"See what happens when you apply yourself?"_

I stuff my notebook, textbooks, flash drive, and printouts into my backpack, heading for the subway. _Still, no harm in checking on Aunt May. With that psychopath involved in her life, you can't be too careful._

My gut lurches as I try the doorknob. Locked. Looking around to make sure no one's in sight, I scramble up the wall and leap over the balcony, sliding the window open. No sign of her. I rush to her bedroom, thinking she'd at least have left a note. All I see out of the ordinary is a set of very lacy lingerie that would be daring even for Mary Jane or Felicia. I try not to imagine Aunt May wearing it. Not that she'd look bad in it or anything, I just have an image of her I _would_ like to retain. 

_He did it. They've eloped!_

_Now what?_

Just another day in the life of Peter Parker, called Spider-Man.


	3. Drowning Lessons, by Otto

To Song With No Soul: Your reviews are eternally appreciated, my Loyal Minion. Take your well-deserved Oreos. Chapter 1 review: Ah, Parker was emo before it was cool. And as for one of the romantic pairings here, it might be deeply creepy but I'm doing nothing Marvel hasn't already; this is a modern remake of an already classic storyline. Remember the ancient Chinese curse: _"May you live in interesting times,"_ and think about why it's a _curse_.

Chapter 2 review: I particular enjoyed writing this chapter, especially the scene parallel to Spider-Man 2. As for SXL, it pulls up just fine on my profile. It must be on your end. As for your comment about his blog: Yeah, he probably is, considering!

Chapter 3: Drowning Lessons, by Otto

"_A thousand bodies piled up  
I never thought would be enough  
To show you just what I've been thinking  
And I'll keep on making more  
Just to prove that I adore  
Every inch of sanity..."_

My Chemical Romance, "Drowning Lessons"

_I pace around May's apartment, anxiously fiddle with the bracelet, performing percussive maintenance. Between you and me, my dear friends and fans, I don't think it's going to last until the scheduled date of the wedding. Besides, her impernitent nephew is watching me like a hawk, the jealous little cretin. If I were a psychologist, I could entertain countless theories of his motive for his possessive--almost clinging--attachment to his aunt. It would be the best thing for all involved to carry out this whole sordid business today. There is no need to procrastinate._

In the kitchen, my fiancee busies herself with the cookie batter. I walk up to her, gently kissing her cheek. "Pardon me, Racheal Ray, but may I lick the spoon?"

"It's not good for you, Oliver," she tells me. "There's raw eggs in it."

"I'm a big boy, my dear May," I tell her, taking the spoon. "Raw eggs aren't going to kill me."

"You are a big boy, Oliver, and all that cookie batter can't be good for your heart condition," she reproves as I lick a stray chocolate chip from a finger.

"More of me to love, my dear," I laugh. I reach for the bowl again, but she snatches it away. 

"Save some for Peter, and be a dear and pack our clothes for the wedding. The suitcases are in Peter's room. I don't typically go in there but I don't think he'll mind."

I dash upstairs and make my way to Peter's room. "Yes, dear," I tell her. The two most important words in a marriage, I know from experience. 

"And call the minister and travel agent."

I pull the biggest suitcase from the closet, and open the zipper. I gasp as I throw open the lid. Crumpled in the bottom of the suitcase is a costume. 

A _Spider-Man _costume. 

And underneath the costume, four tiny red spider-shaped transmitters. 

Another memory swims before my eyes. 

"_Shut it down, Ock!" The bug shouts at me. "You're going to hurt a lot more people this time!"_

This is it. The final, tangible proof. I had known for quite some time, of course, but here--in my own two hands, mind you-- is a smoking gun J. Jonah Jameson, that pompous publisher of propaganda, would kill for or at least pay handsomely for. All I would have to do is take DNA tests of a hair or a skin cell from the mask and I would never have to rob to fund my experiments again. 

Or, Otto Octavius reminds me, you could come clean and show May the costume. After all, Peter's identity is secret--he has probably lied to his "beloved" aunt for a very long time to preserve his double life. This is probably only a spare at any rate; he must have another hidden away in his own apartment.

Or, Doctor Octopus whispers to me from the back of my head, you could use the costume as your one trump card if that impudent boy dares to interfere with your plans. After all, that island could be key to your greatest dream, to the benefit of all humanity. Simple math, "Oliver." Simple logic. What is the ruination of one life compared to the profit of all mankind?

I fold the costume up very small, taking care not to lose or destroy any DNA remnants that may be hidden inside. I gingerly place it in the inside pocket of my trench coat, taking my cell phone out.

I dial the number I had saved, reaching the minister, who is quite willing to marry a couple who have only known each other a month. He's quite used to this, apparently; he comes from Las Vegas. 

"Move the wedding up," I order. "I want us married _today._"

I call Jason Whittaker, the attorney in charge of the Reilly estate, including the Rosslyn Island facilities. "I want a Rosslyn helicopter ready to take May and I to the island _today_ and a Rosslyn limousine to take us to the tuxedo rental and the private hangar," I tell him. 

I call the caterers. "Change of plans. The wedding's _today_. Yes, I'll pay you extra for your trouble."

I call the construction personnel. "Change of plans. The wedding's _today_. I don't care about the schedule, it's an emergency. Well, kick the other clients off the list, I'll pay you extra and you'll get a free meal at the reception," I tell them. "I just want the gazebo built."

I call the tuxedo rental. "I'm going to show up in exactly one hour to pick up my tuxedo. It will be under the name of Octavius."

I call the travel agent and the five-star hotel in San Francisco. "I want to reserve the honeymoon suite for tonight, under the name of Octavius. Credit card? Don't have one, I'll pay when I get there."

I turn off the bracelet, permitting the tentacles to fold and pack my clothes into the suitcase. On my command, one of the pincers smashes the transmitters. _Parker probably puts these on those he finds it necessary to track._ Clearly, if the transmitters are active, it is not in my best interests to let them stay intact. 

I turn on the bracelet again, the tentacles flickering for a few seconds before the holographic patterns take hold. _I shouldn't have permitted them to become visible,_ I castigate myself. _It was an unnecessarily imprudent risk to take this close to the wedding--all to pack the clothes a few minutes more quickly. _

I rush downstairs. "May, the minister says he will be unable to perform the ceremony at the scheduled date," I lie. "I have already called Whittaker to arrange the helicopter ride. I would advise we leave now, the clothes and necessary documents are packed and ready to go." 

"But Peter--"

"The minister says it was an unforeseen circumstance. If Peter truly loves you, he will understand. He should let you make your own choices."

May covers the cookie dough with saran wrap and puts it in the refrigerator. "Well, I can always bake them later," I say. 

"I don't know how long it will keep--well, I can always have Peter take care of my house while we're gone."

The white limousine pulls to the curb, earning gapes from inquisitive neighbors. The driver reaches for the door, but I swat him out of the way and pull open the door and gently escort May in. 

Jason Whittaker is already in the car. He hands out paperwork. "The marriage license, sign these," he says. "Are you sure you're not interested in signing a prenup, Ms. Parker?"

_Oh, no..._

"Of course not!" May seems genuinely offended by the suggestion. I inwardly sigh with relief. "If you can't trust the one you love with money, you shouldn't marry them in the first place," she says. "And Dr. Octavius here is an honest, honorable man."

I smile. "Of course. And Miss Parker here is an honorable, intelligent woman."

Just another day in the life of Otto Octavius, formerly Doctor Octopus.


	4. X&Y, by Peter

To Song With No Soul: In order: No matter what some say about creepiness involved in the "My Uncle, My Enemy" storyline, it's better than some of the more recent stuff writers at Marvel have pulled out of their butts (Sins Past, One More Day, et al.) Yes, I assure you, Otto is writing a blog. But you're right that a blog is more dangerous for Pete. As for the flirting...take your pick. And don't worry, I'm saving all the tasty action until later, when it matters most. I shall wait eagerly for your next review. 

To all other signed reviewers: Check your inboxes.

Chapter 4: X and Y, by Peter

"_Trying hard to speak and_

_Fighting with my weak hand _

_Driven to distraction, it's all part of the plan_

_When something is broken and you try to fix it_

_Trying to repair it, any way you can…"_

Coldplay, "X&Y"

_Evolutionary psychologists say that humans are only slightly evolved animals who only take their primal, caveman needs into account when looking for a potential mate. They say that men choose their women for youth, fertility, and loyalty. Beauty in a woman signifies good genetics, wide hips signify an ability to bear children, and_

_large breasts signify exceptional ability to nurse them. Women choose a man for his ability to provide resources and protect them and their children. _

_But part of civilization is subduing one's animal instincts in service of other ideas. After all, cavemen had no hospitals or charities. In cavemen days, the strong ruled while the weak were left to perish. We believe that man might be an animal, but he is a _glorified_ animal, with the unique abilities of reason, kindness, free will, and the ability to set a moral code to protect the weak from the strong. Animals have no such things; a lion kills and eats an antelope or screws all the lionesses of the pride on simple instinct. They simply do not have the capacities to distinguish right and wrong, which is why the lion cannot be a murderer. It is just doing what comes naturally. Nature is red in tooth and claw, which is why we are horrified when we hear of humans acting like cavemen and animals. _

_Which is why we still shake our heads in consternation when a man marries a trophy wife a third his age because of her youth and beauty. Which is why we snicker when he tells us they have so much in common. Which is why we disapprove when the trophy wife is honest, through her words or behavior, about her motives for marrying him--admits to being a gold-digger, a whore trading her body for money and favors. Which is why we mock the comparatively few cases where a man marries an older woman for a meal ticket, even when the gigolo involved is a Senator running for President._

_We believe in romantic love, a love ruled by the hormones that flood the brain during infatuation, which is why we shake our heads in puzzlement at cultures who arrange their children's marriages for practical convenience. _But do they love each other?_ we ask. _

I frantically search the house, looking for a sign, any sign, that would give me a clue as to where May and Ock might have been headed. The only unusual sign I see is the bowl of chocolate chip cookie batter, covered in saran wrap, in the refrigerator. I race upstairs, run to my room, throw open the closet door, seeing if they took my suitcases. 

They have. At which time I come to a sickening realization. 

I had hidden a spare costume in one of my suitcases!

"Holy shit!" Both of the suitcases are gone!

_Calm down, Pete,_ I tell myself. _May never goes into your room. Maybe she didn't notice anything, the spare costume was in an inside pocket..._

Then I notice pieces of red plastic on my bed. I pick them up and realize that they're the remains of what used to be perfectly good spider-tracers. 

_May didn't notice anything,_ my gut instinct tells me. _But Doc Ock definitely did. _

I brace myself for what's coming next. _You know he's going to use this against you. What if he tells your aunt? Hell, what if tells Jameson what he knows?_

_Don't panic_, I tell myself. _It might not be too late to track him down. I'll just race back over to my own apartment and call Felicia and have her help me out. _

Felicia's not answering her cell. My call goes straight to voicemail. Great. And of course, I have absolutely no clue where they'd go to get married. 

_Come on, Parker, just think. If you were a mad scientist tritium-digger eloping with your archenemy's aunt so you could get her nuclear reactor and uranium mine, where would you go to marry after just a month of dating her? Where could he take her without anyone asking questions?_

_Well, Las Vegas would be the likely choice._

_Yeah, and how would you get there? You don't even have money to get your own _car_. Let alone a plane ticket._

I kick myself for being so secretive and selfish. _If my identity were public, I wouldn't be in this mess right now. I wouldn't be so worried about superbaddies finding out who I really am. _

I shrug my shoulders, deciding to sit tight until they come back. After all, there's really nothing to do and May and Ock are going to show up after the honeymoon at any rate, at least to pack their crap. And under community property laws, Ock would only own half the plant and anything he thought to do with it would have to be run by May first. The only way he'd get it all is if May died _and _changed her will to hand it to him before he did.

So I go back to the kitchen, preheat the oven, take a cookie sheet out of the drawer and the bowl of dough out of the fridge, line up ten plops of dough onto the cookie sheet, shove them in the oven, and turn the TV on to _Heroes_.

Just kick back, think, and plan what to do next. And if my spidey-sense tells me that May's in danger in any way, find a way to find Octopus and tie his arms into a square knot. 

"Itsy Bitsy Spider" chimes from my pocket. I grab at my cell phone. Finally, Felicia's called me back. "Hey, Cat," I say.

"What's your story?" she purrs from the phone.

"It's Doc Ock," I tell her. "He's taken off with May. I don't know where he's gone. He _can't_ be allowed to marry her, Cat. If he succeeds in marrying her, he'll have legal rights to her property. He'll get the reactor and the uranium mine. You've read the papers, you know what he might do--"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, we've been over this--"

"And I have reason to believe he might know my true identity. I had a spare costume stashed in my room. It's gone. Yeah, just meet me over at my Aunt May's house and we'll hash out a plan."

Just another day in the life of Peter Parker, called Spider-Man.


	5. I Write Sins Not Tragedies, by Otto

Chapter 5: I Write Sins Not Tragedies, by Otto

"_I'd look at it this way, I mean technically our marriage is saved,_

_This calls for a toast so pour the champagne, pour the champagne..._

_I'd chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of_

_Closing a goddamn door?"_

_No, it's much better to face these kinds of things_

_With a sense of poise and rationality."_

Panic! At the Disco, "I Write Sins, Not Tragedies"

_People seem to have so little use for the concrete and practical and so much for the intangible and idealistic._

_Some may say my marriage was ill-advised, even a despicable exploitation of a gullible elderly woman. But, my dear fans, you will understand that in my mind, I was doing a good deed for all humanity. A perpetual sun giving cheap electricity for everyone, with no need to depend on hostile Middle Eastern dictators selling petroleum-based fuel to run the engine of the economy. The MacArthur Foundation isn't exactly tripping over itself to give me a "genius grant", after all, never mind how well-deserved it would be in my case, and if I have to acquire resources by hook or by crook, if I have to break a few eggs to make a delicious omelet, what of it? History is written by the winners to convieniently gloss over the crimes of their heroes. Someday, I will be a hero and only a historian specializing in the most obscure details will remember what I had to do to benefit mankind. Someday the bones of every other scientists from Ptolemy to Tesla to Heisenberg will be ground to paste to build a monument to Octavius._

_After all, morality is highly subjective in this culture. Morality is no longer believed to be external, but internal. Morality no longer comes handed down by the hand of an angry God from Mount Sinai or Mount Olivet, but from the individual's "heart," their inner self. Turn on Springer or Oprah, and you find plebeians confess without inhibition to the intimate details of their sexual inclinations, how they pimped out their brother's girlfriend to all the residents of their trailer park, how they engaged in an adulterous affair with their father-in-law and are uncertain about the paternity of their child. Poke around the internet chat rooms long enough, and you may easily find teenage girls posing for photographs in skimpy bathing suits without shame or in a few cases, even confessing their sexual fantasies about _me_--me, who is not in any way conventionally attractive in the standards of this society, mind you. One search of my name on Google has produced, among the standard news stories and biographies, stories of otherwise sane young ladies who without embarrassment share with others who by all standards are total strangers the graphic details of what they would do with me in a bedroom. _What a childhood you must have had_, I think in these cases, _to become attached to Otto Octavius.

_The highest value in today's morality is individuality, because in this culture, each of us has our own moral script and our own way of being human. Under those rules, the first sin is hypocrisy. It is better to be honest about what you are--even if you are a pedophile, an adulterer, a criminal, or a young lady who lusts after a six-armed "supervillain" old enough to be her father--than to pretend to be something you're not. The second sin is judgmentalism. After all, to each his or her own--if morality is internal, how can you possibly say another's deeds are wrong? He is simply following his own internal desires as you follow yours. _

_That is your morality, America. That is your morality, New York City. Under your own standards, how can you possibly judge _me_, who am not following my base instincts and desires, but the gain of all society? After all, I am just being honest with you. And isn't that all you ask?_

Rosslyn Island waits for us below the helicopter, an emerald in the Atlantic Ocean, an emerald burning with the fire of the sun within its heart. This experience will truly be priceless.

It is not that I don't care for or about May. There are many things to like in May; I just cannot immediately think of them right now. But I had resolved long ago, after the death of my first wife, to forsake the many joys sexual love brings in order to yoke my genius and energy to a higher ideal.

The helicopter gently lands next to the gazebo the construction company had been building diligently for the past three days. One worker finishes painting the trim; others drape it with white roses and green ribbons and balloons. Wicker chairs are hurriedly set in rows while white carpet is rolled out, making the aisle. Meanwhile, the catering company spreads tablecloths on the ground, preparing two dozen place settings.

I briefly question the extravagance of the entire proceedings. It is, after all, a small wedding executed for one purpose: to legally bind the sister of the famed Nathan Reilly and her family property to someone who can certainly find better uses to put it to than she could.

The bushy-haired minister already waits at the head of the gazebo, swaying in his shoes and holding a bottle of champagne. I yank it out of his hand. "You incompetent clod!" I hiss. "So help me, if you are already too inebriated to provide your services in this wedding..."

"Keep yer arms on, Doc," he reassures me. "Now, where's my fee?" Meanwhile, May grasps at my arm. "Oliver, calm down. All this yelling _can't _be good for your heart condition."

I pull the hundred dollars from my trenchcoat pocket and hand it to him, grumbling. "I _don't_ tolerate stupidity in others, _especially_ when I'm paying for their services."

"Just stand there under the gazebo, Doc, turn around and face each other, and hold hands like you like each other," the minister says. May and I oblige, and I breathe an inner sigh of relief that whatever else might happen on this island, neither that meddling bug, that jealous little nephew, is not going to interfere with it.

The minister begins. _"Ladies and gentlemen," _he addresses the motley crowd of caterers, construction workers, and various Rosslyn Energy employees--common laborers all, not fit to witness any wedding of mine, had it been in more ideal circumstances--_"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the presence of the Lord and our community to witness the joining of--_what was your name again?"

"May Parker," the blushing bride whispers.

"_May Parker and--_your name again?

"Oliver Octavius, you drunken sot," I inform him through gritted teeth.

"_Oliver Octavius in holy matrimony. For the Lord said of Adam, 'It is not good for man to be alone; let us make a helper for him,' and Eve was created then out of Adam's rib. And Adam said of Eve, 'She is now bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh'. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife, and they shall be of one flesh."_

"_If any person here has any reason why this woman and this man should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."_

After the obligatory pause--thankfully uninterrupted thanks to the conspicuous absence of the aforementioned meddling nephew--the ceremony continues.

"_Do you, May, take Oliver as your lawfully wedded husband?"_

"_I do."_

"_Do you vow to love, honor, and obey him for all the days of your life?"_

"_I do."_

"_Do you vow to love and care for him for better or for worse, through sickness and in health, through poverty and wealth, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?"_

"_I do."_

"_And do you, Oliver, take May as your lawfully wedded wife?"_

"_I do."_

"_Do you vow to love, honor, and cherish her for all the days of your life?"_

"_I do."_

"_Do you vow to love and care for her for better or for worse, through sickness and in health, through poverty and wealth, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?"_

Might as well play along. _"I do."_

"The rings, Doc? Got the rings?"

I pull the rings out of my pocket, two gold bands patterned after the Irish claddaugh, two hands holding a crowned heart.

"_The perfectly circular wedding rings symbolize the unending cycle of life. Place the ring on the bride's left ring finger, believed by the ancients to contain a vein leading directly to the heart, and say, 'With this ring, I thee wed."_

Fumbling with Rosie's ring and May's hand, not particularly used to utilizing my human arms on a regular basis after these long years, I slip the ring on. "With this ring, I thee wed."

The minister points to two white candles on the altar and fiddles with a cigarette lighter. _"The unity candle represents the light of love; its white color symbolizes innocence and purity. The bride and groom light this unity candle together to ignite the flame of romance."_

I tolerate the minister's pointless, pompous babbling, as May and I take the lighter and light the candle.

One second later, a breeze flares up and the candle puffs out. I do hope May isn't the superstitious type who would read too much into this.

"Aw, let's try again," the minister suggests. We fiddle with the lighter in one more fruitless attempt at the candle.

The minister looks at his watch. "Aw fuck it. _By the power invested in me by the Supreme Being and the laws of the State of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. _Kiss your bride already."

After the unpleasant deed is done, and after a splendid reception dinner of lobster and crab, May escorts me to her brother's personal summer cabin. She opens her suitcase, and pulls out a very lacy blue negligee that, suffice it to say and forgive the cliche, leaves little to the imagination.

"I'm looking forward to the occasion immensely," I lie through my teeth. "But first I must take care of something. I will be back shortly, so you might as well wait here, my dear Mrs. Octavius."

I had found it necessary to steal away to make repairs to the bracelet, knowing that the artificial intelligence of my arms were already starting to rebel against the holographic systems that enslaved them, forced them to stay silent and invisible. Making minute adjustments with a small screwdriver, I wondered in hindsight if there were any other people Doctor Octopus could have held hostage that day at the bank. Because of this, I was certain that my wondrous plans would come to naught should I ever be recognized. I sigh. _If wishes were fishes..._ my dearly departed mother would say.

However, I have other problems to deal with, as when I return to the cabin, May is gone.

I race through the island, asking everyone I see: "Where is she? _Where is my wife?_"

But not one could give me a satisfactory answer. No ordinary human can just disappear off the face of the earth...

Just another day in the life of Otto Octavius, called Doctor Octopus.


	6. Believe, by Peter

To Song With No Soul: I am emailing my responses, as they are rather too lengthy to be allowed here. Check your inbox.

Chapter 6: Believe, by Peter

"_I am hiding from some beast, but the beast was always here_

_Watching without eyes because the beast is just my fear_

_That I am just a nothing, and that's just what I've become_

_What am I waiting for...?"_

The Bravery, "Believe"

_When I have enough quiet time to ponder such things, which is unfortunately not often and limited to the time I can devote to my blog, I wonder about the nature of superheroism. What makes a superhero? Cool powers? Nifty gadgets? A fantastic hangout? A snazzy costume? None of those. Supervillains have all of these. _

_Also remember that the number of supervillains far outweighs the number of superheroes. Why is that, you ask? Because the one thing that a superhero has that a supervillain doesn't is a moral compass. The traditions of all major religions hold that human nature is fundamentally flawed. It takes a strong will to do the right thing, the generous thing, the fair thing, as opposed to the selfish thing, as opposed to doing whatever benefits your desires. That's why all the religions set down certain universal rules of morality: Do not murder, do not steal, do not screw a blood relative, _etc._ It's very easy to jockey for the position you want in this world and step on anyone in your way, especially if you're superhuman. When a person gains superhuman powers by virtue of radioactive contamination, a supernatural artifact, or the activation of latent mutant genes, it takes a strong conscience or a noble cause to believe in to sacrifice everything you hold dear to remember that with great power comes great responsibility. Whatever your power is, you either realize that you have a duty to use it to benefit others--that is, walk the often hard and lonely path of the superhero--or you don't and start using it to benefit _yourself_--the path of the supervillain. _

_That said, what makes two hauntingly similar individuals go on such markedly different paths? The biographers at Marvel Comics have noted almost eerie similarities between my background and that of my archenemy. We were both lonely science geeks, bullied throughout our childhoods, gaining remarkable powers through accidents involving radioactivity. What made me, as one writer put it, "the geek gone good," and him "the geek gone bad"?_

_Easy. Doc Ock never had an Uncle Ben._

I pull on my costume, leap to the rooftop of my aunt's house. Felicia the Black Cat waits next to me. "She left her cell phone number for emergencies," I tell her. "She never answers."

"Maybe she's in the middle of wedded bliss," Felicia suggests, leering.

My spidey-senses blare like a klaxon, and I stand to attention like a hot poker's just been rammed up my asshole. I turn around at an all-too-familiar voice and know why.

He had risen from the ground on his lower tentacles, human arms crossed and two metal arms hovering about his shoulders. "Fortunately, we never got to that point," he says.

I lunge at him, nearly knocking him down until two tentacles coil around me. "_What have you done with May Parker?!_"

He growls at me, righting himself: "I have done _nothing_, and moreover, the proper cognomen is May _Octavius_, neé Parker, neé Reilly."

He smiles that sinister smile, always enough to send shivers down my spandex. "And I expect my _nephew_ to show me the proper respect I am due." The tentacles squeeze even harder around my torso. "If not for your elders, then for your _betters_."

I wonder if he knows because he found my spare costume or because I had once unmasked himself in front of him.

"And the proper question is: What have _you_ done with May Octavius?"

"Let him go!" Black Cat leaps at him, extending those laser claws.

One of the tentacles grabs her collar with a pincer, leaving her dangling in the air. "Miss, my quarrel is not with you. Be grateful my upbringing prevents me from physically assaulting a lady, and kindly refrain from interfering with our family matters."

"Well, aren't _you_ the knight in shining arms," I mutter.

Felicia wildly swings at the tentacle holding her with her claws, severing one at a joint. Otto lets go of me, falling to the apartment complex courtyard, faintly slumping over and letting out the most horrific scream of pain I have ever had the privilege to hear.

"Aw, pipe down will ya!" I yell. "For Chrissakes, you'd think someone tore off one of your arms!"

"It _is_ one of my arms, you addlepated dullard!"

A tenant opens her window and peers from across the courtyard. Felicia looks at me. "Just take him into the apartment before anyone notices and starts asking questions."

We guide him into May's apartment, him still moaning in pain, finally helping him onto the bed in my room. The wires from the detached tentacle still spark.

"Christ," I swear. "I'd figured out long ago that you had some kind of a mental link with those things, but I never imagined you would be connected so...intimately with them."

"As I previously said, for all intents and purposes they are as much a part of me as the limbs I was born with. Even when detached from me, while in prison, I could still feel them, as the phantom pains of a soldier who left a limb on the battlefield. That is why I will _never_ be completely powerless, and why you will _never_ decisively defeat me."

_Yeah, whatever you say, "Uncle."_

"Hand me a soldering gun, Parker," he orders, sitting up on the bed, draping the disjoined tentacle across his lap, pulling the base of it towards him and steadying it. Admittedly intrigued, I hand another tentacle the soldering gun. The tentacles do the rest.

"So, Otto," I ask, "what are you going to do now that you know who I am?"

"What do you expect me to do? Do not flatter yourself that your true identity is in any way important to my purposes. No matter what your name is, you are just another meddling fool interfering with my work."

Annoyed as he is, it definitely seems unwise to push him further. "We offer a truce," he says, looking up from the repairs.

"What?" I say.

"We both want your aunt alive and unharmed. You want to be reunited with her. I want what she has in her possession. It would be easy for us, united under this common purpose, to successfully retrieve her."

I just look at him sideways. "I trust you only as far as I can throw you, Ock."

"Fair enough. But how successful have _you_ been in the search?"

I sigh and shake his hand. "Touché. Truce then."

I sit down at the desk watching him, and wonder which one of us is going to break the truce first.

"I'm going to go now." I say. "Felicia, keep tabs on him."

Just another day in the life of Peter Parker, called Spider-Man.


	7. Mr Roboto, by Otto

To Song With No Soul: Don't worry, you've warned Pete plenty, he'll get the lesson through soon enough. As for the minister: He probably will--if he stays alive long enough. You'll see. And after I'm through, this story will have more twists than a corkscrew. They don't call me the Trickster for nothing! Happy reading!

Chapter 7: _Domo Arigato_ Mr. Roboto, by Otto

"_I'm not a robot without emotions—I'm not what you see  
I've come to help you with your problems, so we can be free  
I'm not a hero, I'm not a savior, forget what you know  
I'm just a man whose circumstances went beyond his control."_

Styx, "Mr. Roboto"

_When I have enough time undisturbed to ponder such things, and when in a contemplative mood, when I find the occasion to philosophize on this online journal, this _blog_, my dear friends, I ponder the nature of my relationship with Peter Parker. My student. My nephew. My archenemy. _

_As much as I find fault with the cinematic version of my life provided by Sony Pictures, and I assure you it is a very long list of faults, there is one thing of relevance that remains accurate: Peter and I were not always on such hostile terms. My precious memories, once thought lost forever in the depths of the East River, have slowly been restored, and I hear echoing in my mind the question: "Did Bernoulli sleep before he discovered the curves of quickest descent?"_

_What happened, my old enemy? What happened, Parker, during those long and eventful years?_

_We both were lonely science geeks, each of us bullied and tortured by those jealous of the advantages intellect brings. _

_Nevertheless, neither of us were satisfied to wait and see what life throws at us. We were each driven to shape our own destinies...to take the slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune and in turn, to shape them with our own hands. _

_He took those slings and arrows and made them into tools: while I took my slings and arrows and made them into weapons. _

_We each had dashing good looks, brimming confidence, intelligence to spare, and gorgeous lovers, an existence most men would envy... but we weren't satisfied, Peter, were we? Neither of us. I threw myself into my research in robotics, artificial intelligence, and nuclear physics--and you in turn threw yourself into your "career" as a masked vigilante. _

_You _need_ the mask, the mission, my dear Parker. You need Spider-Man, just as I need Doctor Octopus. Just as I need _my_ mask, my mission. Why do we each feel the burning need to change the world?_

_Of course, that's where any similarity between us ends. Time and time again, time after time, you prove to me and all the world that watches your dedication--more properly, your _obsession_--with doing what you think is right. You have proven yourself more than ready to sacrifice yourself and this precious life of yours--always flickering like a candle--in the name of what you call simple human decency. _

_As much as I am loath to admit it out loud, we are connected extraordinarily closely on your tangled, tangled web. I need you, because you provide a challenge to my life, a certain inspiration, a hope for eventual redemption. _

_And as much as you are probably loath to admit it out loud, you need me, because not only is a superhero useless without a supervillain, but because I hold a mirror up to you that reflects who you might have become if circumstances had differed. I am what you see reflected through a glass darkly. We represent a duality--the idealistic and intangible versus the concrete and practical._

Against my better judgement and that of the artificial intelligence of my tentacles, I find myself heading once again to the apartment of May Parker, where my old enemy and a platinum blonde young lady in a black catsuit wait for me on the rooftop.

"Maybe May's in the middle of wedded bliss," the lady tells Peter. "Although I'm surprised he can even _see_ the necessary glands over his--"

I decide to interrupt her scintillating conversation, as it doesn't take a nuclear physicist to deduce the gist of her insult. "Fortunately, we never got to that point. And I assure you, my dear lady, I can see my vital organs _quite_ well."

"Okay," Peter lunges at me, his constant undertone of sarcasm strengthening. "Thanks for sharing! Now, _what have you done with May Parker?_"

I am forced to defend myself, restraining him with two tentacles. "I have done nothing," I tell him. "And the proper patronymic is May _Octavius_. I find it eminently reasonable to expect my nephew to give me the proper respect I am due." To grind the lesson in, I order the tentacles to squeeze tighter. "If not for your elders, than for your _betters_."

Cat Lady defends her man, leaping towards me. I decide to show her that against me, she is out of her league. I catch her by the collar. "My quarrel is not with you," I warn her. "Be grateful that my upbringing prevents me from physically assaulting a lady, and kindly refrain from interfering in my family matters."

Spider-Man remains defiant. "Well, aren't _you _the knight in shining arms."

"Tell me, Spider-Man, is your repertoire of jokes and wisecracks only a disguise for your raging psychological insecurity?"

"I don't care about any marriage certificate you can produce. You're _not_ my uncle."

"Well, no, not genetically perhaps," I tell him. "But in every other sense, including under the law, I assuredly am. Despite your continuing attachment to your aunt's first husband."

The searing pain hits me a few seconds after, the feeling reminiscent of flesh being flayed from bone. When my vision finally clears, I turn to the source of the problem--a set of laser claws have sprouted from Cat Lady's gloves, severing one of the tentacles completely.

"Aw pipe down, will you?" the bug yells at me. "For Chrissakes, you'd think she just tore off one of your arms!"

"It _is_ one of my arms, you addlepated dullard!"

"You know what I mean!"

I feel two pairs of hands on my back, quickly escorting me into an apartment. The hands push me onto a bed. I hear two voices echoing distantly in my head.

"You reckon we should get him a Tylenol, Spider?"

"The dude's a _nutcase_, Felicia. It's probably all in his head. _If _he's not faking it."

"Christ," the bug's voice resounds in my ears. "I'd long ago figured out you had some kind of mental link with those things, but I never suspected the connection would be so--intimate."

I do not care to fully educate the little smartass about the extensive, organic relationship I share with my beauties, but I answer him anyway. "As I previously said, for all intents and purposes they are as much a part of me as the limbs I was born with. Even when detached from me, while in prison, I could still feel them, as the phantom pains of a soldier who left a limb on the battlefield. That is why I will _never_ be completely powerless, and why you will _never_ decisively defeat me. Have you a soldering gun, by any chance?"

I sit up on the bed, and a soldering gun is placed in my hands. I block out the pain long enough to drape the torn tentacle across my lap and steady the base of it in my hands. Another tentacle grasps the soldering iron and goes to work.

"So Otto," the impertinent bug intrudes, "what are you going to do now that you know who I am?"

Annoyed at the interruption, I tell him exactly what.

"What do you expect me to do? Do not flatter yourself that your true identity is in any way important to my purposes. No matter what your name is, you are just another meddling fool interfering with my work." I look up from the tentacle. "We offer a truce."

"What?" the bug says.

I sigh. For such an intelligent young man... "We both want your aunt alive and unharmed. You want to be reunited with her. I want what she has in her possession. It would be easy for us, united under this common purpose, to successfully retrieve her."

The bug crosses his arms and looks at me sideways. "I trust you only as far as I can throw you, Ock."

"Fair enough. But how successful have _you_ been in your search? Haven't you and your lady friend heretofore sat on this rooftop on your thumbs waiting for her to show up?"

The bug sighs and extends a hand. "Touché. Truce then."

I sit down at the desk watching him, and wonder which one of us is going to break the truce first.

"I'm going to go now." the bug says, heading for the door. "Felicia, keep tabs on him."

As soon as he leaves, I turn to Felicia. "Make me something to eat."

She looks down her nose and flounces out of the room. "Fuck you. Make it yourself."

"Tell me, Miss Felicia, would you say the same thing if I were Spider-Man, and I had asked you this?"

"You bet your ass I would have."

I trudge up off the bed and make my way to the kitchen, using a tentacle to search the cupboard. "Damn it, May had better not have thrown away those Oreos..."

She didn't, though, and I pull them out along with a carton of mint chocolate ice cream, piling both in a bowl, heaping chocolate syrup on the whole concoction.

Felicia looks at the bowl, then down her nose at me. "You're a disgusting pig."

I heave the sigh of the truly affronted, and tell her: "On the contrary, my dear Miss Felicia, I am no pig but an Octopus."

And then I hear the rumbles and the falling of tree branches and debris outside...

Just another day in the life of Otto Octavius, called Doctor Octopus.


	8. Shadowplay, by Peter

Chapter 8: Shadowplay, by Peter

_"I did everything, everything I wanted to  
I let them use you for their own ends  
To the center of the city in the night, waiting for you  
To the center of the city in the night, waiting for you..."_

The Killers, "Shadowplay"

_You know what this country needs more of? No, not Angelina Jolie--yeah, I would have guessed that too--but I wasn't thinking of her. Well, not _now_, anyway. But I've gotta admit she's hella hot--okay, back to the subject of today's blog post._

_I'm talking about _responsibility._ Believe it or not, there used to be a consensus among the population that life might be unfair, but it's not a poker game--you have to play the hand God deals you because you don't have the option of folding. _

_And what now? Now we try to understand wrongdoers and try to find some cause to his behavior; anything except his own voluntary choices. Now we have the genetic defense, the poverty defense, the psychological defense, the emotional defense, the death metal music defense, and the twinkie defense. All just modern versions of "the Devil made me do it!" Somehow, _everyone's_ a victim, and if you maintain that you're not a victim, why you must be in denial and need some serious help in realizing you are. No matter what we do, we can't help ourselves. Now, we try to advocate for criminals and supervillains and tell everyone they're _misunderstood

_The reason why we refuse to let people take responsibility is a simple one. By the same token, if others don't have to take responsibility for our actions, we don't have to either. _

_Thankfully, I was raised differently, but even so I'm not even going to _try_ to say I'm immune. I too have shirked my responsibilities. Life threw a radioactive spider on my hand, and I was more worried about my next appearance on Letterman than to any duty to society I might have. Even as I patrol the city as Spider-Man and fulfill my duty to my community, even as I think I've learned my lesson from Uncle Ben, Peter Parker neglects his duties to his friends, his family, and his employees._

_But when a person comes to the viewpoint that he is not responsible for anything he does or to anyone he knows, you eventually wind up with a criminal. If he's got superpowers, you eventually wind up with a supervillian. _

I'm racing my dorkmobile of a motor scooter to the _Daily Bugle_, hoping to hawk some more pictures to my ever-loving boss. Fortunately, he never shuts up long enough to seriously think about just how this amateur photo-snapper manages to get such great shots of Spider-Man.

And suddenly, I have the unpleasant mental image of my Uncle Otto showing the costume to Jameson--along with any DNA I might have left in there.

But even if I'm headed for early retirement from the superhero business, you bloggers will all support me, right? Right? Huh?

I can't think too hard about this right now--because the Sword of Damocles is hanging over my head, and the thread just snapped. My spidey-senses tingle, and I leap off of the dorkmobile, and duck into the alley.

"Spider-Man!" he shouts. "Remember me? You embarrassed me in front of the entire city!"

"_I_ embarrassed you, Electro?" I shout, leaping out of the way. "You did a bang-up job of that yourself! Look at those tights! Look at that mask!"

He merely shrugs. "Hey, when you can shoot a hundred thousand volts of electric death from your fingers, who's gonna talk smack about your outfit?"

He poises to strike. "Get ready for some _shock and awe_!"

"And your _catchphrases_, Dillon!" I leap out of the way of the crackling electric bolt. "You know, I get Sarah Silverman to write _my_ jokes!"

He fires another bolt. I concentrate on leaping, spending as much time airborne as I can. Electricity always takes the easiest path to the ground, you know. Being a science geek helps in these situations more than you'd think. I also know air is a decent insulator.

I also know that Electro's supply isn't inexhaustible. After a few dozen times firing at me and a few dozen times missing, his level of energy will be drained and it'll be fairly easy to take him down.

"Come on, hold still!" he shouts.

"Yeah, that's what they all say!" I duck behind a bus, leaping away in time to watch it explode.

"You know Electro, I wonder what you smell like," I tell him, webbing a nearby car and throwing it into the air, deflecting another blast.

"What?"

I leap once more, landing deftly behind a pickup truck. "Well, your powers are electrical..."

I leap again, ducking into a nearby sports equipment store, grabbing a wooden baseball bat and swearing to the owner I'll return it. "...So water shorts you out..."

I duck behind another car, which promptly combusts. God, I hope the owners have insurance. "And so you can't _shower_!" I run to the toy store next door, borrowing the biggest Super Soaker I can find. Under the cover of several more cars, I duck over to a water fountain, carefully webbing the knob to avoid touching anything metal, and fill her up.

"How do you plan to defeat me, Wallcrawler, by _talking_ me to death?"

"Nah," I shout, leaping toward him, baseball bat in one hand and squirt gun in the other. "I plan to defeat you by shorting you out and then beating you over the head with the wooden baseball bat! But if you want to be defeated another way, I can be flexible--"

I squirt him as fast as I can. He starts to snap, crackle and pop like a bowl of cereal in the morning. What I _didn't_ plan for was Electro not being entirely shorting out--or being so exhausted that I land in the puddle he's standing in.

I might have saved myself from being fried extra crispy, but I can't say just being fried original recipe is much better.

I sink to the ground. Electro, sopping wet and pulling out a chunk of my burnt-black hair, drags me to my feet. He shoves a dripping nose an inch from my face. "I was being easy on you, Websucker," he taunts. "I wasn't even trying to kill you that time. I would have liked to, but everyone's got a boss, and I've got mine who wants you alive until he can get you myself."

"Enlighten me," I cough.

"I'm just a humble messenger boy, Spidey," he tells me. "My boss just wanted me to make you an offer you can't refuse."

"Give it to me straight, Tony Soprano," I tell him. "Or maybe I should call you Big Pussy."

"Knock off the jokes. My boss says he's known who you really are for a long time. And he wants you to have your aunt's marriage to that fat freak Doctor Octopus _annulled_."

I used to think that no matter how much my life sucked, things could always get worse.

I lose my job? Lose my girlfriends? Avoid flunking out by the skin of my teeth? Things could always get worse.

Green Goblin scares my aunt out of three years of life expectancy? Things could always get worse.

Venom puts my girlfriend in a web with cement blocks dangling from her head? Things could always get worse.

Doctor Octopus elopes with my aunt because he really has the hots for her uranium mine? Bites, but things could always get worse, right?

I console myself with this mantra, relying on it to bear events like these with remarkable composure and sang-froid. Electro attacks me and tells me he's working for another criminal mastermind who's after the same nuclear breeder Octopus married into? Things could always get worse.

I end up having to buy the squirt gun and baseball bat because they're both so damaged from the battle and charred from exposure to electricity to be unsalable.

_Things could always get worse._

My dorkmobile isn't in the alley where I left it along with my backpack full of clothes.

_Things could always get worse._

My clothes have apparently been stolen, too.

_Things could always get worse. _

My digital camera is fried, the victim of Electro's flame-broiling. No pictures for Jameson this month.

_Things could always get worse._

I trudge home, making my way to May's apartment, melted plastic in one hand and charred wood in the other, smelling of smoke and superhero tights ripped, hair brittle and crackling, to find Felicia sitting in Doc Ock's lap while he eats my chocolate chip cookies and watches _MythBusters_.

He looks up at me and smiles that shit-eating grin of his. "Have a nice time?"

I grit my teeth. "Just fucking _wonderful_, Otto. Just bloody _delightful_."

"_Language_, Parker. Cursing makes one look stupid. Not saying you need any help in _that_ particular department."

I give him the single-finger salute.

His smile grows even wider. "Now, I would advise against being so disrespectful to me, young Parker. _Especially_ considering I hold a secret you're not amenable to having revealed publicly."

"You couldn't prove it." My brave words ring hollow, and he knows it.

"Of course I can. I have acquired a DNA sample from the spare costume you so imprudently left in your suitcase." He nudges Felicia off of his lap and takes out my comb from his pocket. "Comparing the samples was embarrassingly easy for someone of my intellect."

The second thing he takes out is two envelopes. One is inscribed with _To May Reilly Parker_. The other is inscribed with _To J. Jonah Jameson_. "These envelopes are, as you may clearly see, are inscribed the names of the two people you would least like to be made aware of your--shall we say _extracurricular_ activities. The moment you step out of line, the envelopes go out. Don't even think to say anything. It was an opportunity easily taken, a foolish weakness easily traded on. You should have gone the route of the so-called 'public' superheroes. Are we abundantly clear on this?"

_Well what do you know, things have just gotten worse._


	9. Walking Contradiction, by Otto

Chapter 9: Walking Contradiction, by Otto

"_Do as I say, not as I do_

_Because the shit's so deep you can't run away_

_I beg to differ, on the contrary, I agree with every word that you say_

_Talk is cheap and lies are expensive,_

_My wallet's fat and so is my head."_

Green Day, "Walking Contradiction"

_One of the most pernicious influences on today's society is the encouragement of what is popularly called "self-esteem" as the highest virtue. That is, the encouragement of pride in those who have nothing to be proud of. You may think it a modern problem, but the excellent have always been punished by the mediocre. The superior have always been hated by the inferior. The intelligent have always been scorned, beaten, and their glasses broken by the imbecilic masses. But today, in this mercilessly egalitarian society, the masses insist on their right to live insipid, useless lives and make moronic decisions without interference from those who by all objective measures are their betters._

_In today's society, those with the intelligence to make grand plans for the benefit of humanity, the power to carry them out, and the independence to disregard the petty laws enacted expressly to hinder them are pursued as criminals, scorned as crackpots and hacks. In a society that hates excellence and prizes conformity and mediocrity, I am Harrison Bergeron. In a society that prizes all the individuality of a herd of sheep and keeps the superior from their rightful place in the world, I am the _ubermensch _of Nietzche's wet dreams. Parker had so much potential...and yet he chooses to waste his intelligence and power for the benefit of those who deserve it least._

_You may, dear readers, think I have an ego problem. I will tell you honestly, you think that because you do not have any special talent or intelligence to boast of yourself. _

I ponder what I should do with my newfound knowledge of my enemy's identity. I figure that there are very, very many who would pay for the information. Enough, the scientist I still am tells me, to fund my own laboratory, make my breakthrough, get back into the good graces of the scientific community.

Or, Doctor Octopus reminds me, you could blackmail him. It's amazing what the threat of the loss of everyone he holds dear does to silence an enemy.

_I'm no blackmailer_, I tell myself.

_Too little, too late for scruples now_, I think. You have stolen, you have destroyed, you have murdered in pursuit of your ideal. You have sacrificed everyone you loved, even your wife, in pursuit of your dream. What does the life and reputation of the man who has always stood in your way matter now?

I hurriedly find two envelopes and two pieces of letter paper, and quickly write two identical letters. I write on one envelope _To May Reilly Parker_. On the other, I write _To J. Jonah Jameson_. I stuff and seal the envelopes.

My safety assured, I search through the cupboards for the Oreos I had bought, fearing May had discarded them in deference to "my heart condition." I finally find them in their original hiding place, and now busy myself with scooping mint chocolate chip ice cream into a bowl. Then I search for the chocolate syrup.

The bug's girlfriend stands behind me, arms crossed, watching me prepare my snack. "God, you're a fat, disgusting pig."

I heave the sigh of the truly affronted. Yes, I know I have always been what is charitably called _stocky_ or _husky_. I also know that in this era when the richest man in the world earned his fortune and power by designing computer software, that while beauty is certainly not merely a social construct, the preference for it is increasingly an outdated relic of evolutionary psychology and a call of reactionary genes. "On the contrary, my dear Miss Felicia, I am no pig but an Octopus."

I grab the spoon when I hear a distant rumble and the shaking of tree branches.

"Somebody coming," she says to no one in particular.

"So take care of it," I say, digging into a chunk of ice cream. "Isn't that what you 'superheroes' do all day?"

I hear Miss Felicia scream, and turn the television volume louder. I hear a man shout. "Where is he? Bring me Octavius!"

Well, I am a number of things, but a coward I am definitely not. I place the bowl into the refrigerator and step out to meet my visitor. "Someone asked for me?"

My visitor is tall, muscular, and wearing a green suit with what looks like, of all things, a scorpion tail sprouting out of his backside. "I've got a message for you, Doc," he tells me.

"And what would that possibly be?"

"Annul your marriage to May Parker."

"I shall do no such thing."

The tail swings, and I use my tentacles to leap out of the way. "Pity," he tells me. "If you'd have done things my way, no one would have gotten hurt." He swings again, and the barbed tail grazes my face, and I see the streamer of blood follow. I manage to duck out of the way as he throws a punch. But the tail swings again, sending me towards the brick wall defining the apartment complex property, and I narrowly avoid serious injury by using my tentacles to cocoon my all too mortal shell.

He swings once more, and I finally catch the tail with a tentacle. "The only one here getting hurt," I tell him, "is _you_, Scorpion." He is promptly flung into the brick wall.

Scorpion merely leaps to his feet, and jumps toward me again, boots first and headed to my face. "You think a piece of metal calamari can stop the Scorpion?"

I simply grab him by the legs with two more tentacles and send him back through the brick wall. "No, I _know_ it will!" This must be his first day on the job. He staggers up, shaking his head. I immediately take advantage, striking once more to the nape of his neck with the force of a jackhammer. Then I pick him up once more, and slam his head into the cement bench in the courtyard.

I then toss this cheap thug into the courtyard pool.

But Scorpion, dispatched as he is, still manages to crawl out of the pool, blubbering, pulls himself over the side, and grabs Felicia with his tail, tossing her away across the apartment courtyard towards the brick wall.

I turn away and grab her once more by the collar with a pincer, gently setting her down onto a bench. When I turn once more to this _other_ arachnid aberration, I find the coward has escaped, trailing blood from the pool to the brick wall to the bench. I look at Felicia, and sigh. Maybe I still have some of that old-fashioned chivalry after all.

She looks at me with a strange expression I've never seen a woman direct at me before. "You—you saved my life."

"Don't mention it. Now bring me my bowl of ice cream and turn the television on to the Discovery Channel."

We trudge up the stairs to May's apartment, where she gently traces the cut on my face with a black-gloved finger. "We gotta get that cut of yours cleaned up," she says. "Looks like he did a number on you, Otto."

I didn't want let that go unchallenged. I wanted to correct her. Nobody ever calls me Otto anymore. Not to mention that, as one of the most brilliant scientists that had ever walked this _terra firma_, I find it only reasonable to insist I be addressed with the proper respect: either _Doctor _or _Sir_.

But to my immense surprise and chagrin, I only nod. "Not really, Miss Felicia."

I step into the living room and slump to the couch, grasping the remote with a tentacle and the bowl of ice cream and oreos with another, while Felicia sits on my lap and starts to sponge my battered face with a damp washcloth and rub neosporin into the slash on my cheek. I passively accept her ministrations, since we are both aware that not only my is marriage a sham, but that I feel somewhat flattered by the attentions of an admittedly attractive blonde in a tight cat costume.

She picks up the spoon. "Would you like me to feed you?"

"No. And get off me, I hear something."

"Who gives a shit?"

"You will soon enough, if I am right about whom I hear at the door!"

And then the little bug trudges in, dragging a hunk of melted plastic in one hand and a charred baseball bat in the other. His hair is burnt, his uniform torn, and he smells like smoke and frying meat. I chuckle at his predicament, wishing I was there to watch it. It would have been most entertaining. "Have a nice time?"

"Just _wonderful_, Otto. Just fucking _delightful_."

"I was only attempting a civil conversation, Parker."

"Fuck you."

"_Language_, Parker," I correct him. I briefly consider the many pleasures involved in throttling him for the sheer audacity of daring to cuss at Doctor Octopus. But after all, there are other considerations involved that prevent me from indulging my immediate urges towards him. "Cursing makes one look stupid. Not that you need any help in _that_ department."

He only responds with an upraised middle finger.

I chuckle at his immaturity. Simply amazing how puerile someone of his intelligence and power can be. "Is that number your age or your IQ?"

"Don't start with me, Ock. I'm not in the mood."

"Now, I would advise against being so disrespectful to me, young Parker. _Especially_ considering I hold a secret you're not amenable to having revealed publicly."

"You couldn't prove it." For all his brave talk, his voice betrays his fear.

"Of course I can. I have acquired a DNA sample from the spare costume you so imprudently left in your suitcase." I finally shove Felicia off of my lap and take out Parker's old comb from my trenchcoat pocket, secreted yesterday from the bathroom. "Comparing the samples was embarrassingly easy for someone of my intellect." Of course I am bluffing; I would have to reach one of my underground laboratories for my final analysis, but he doesn't need to know. All he needs to know is I _could_ do it.

The second thing I take out is the two envelopes I had prepared earlier, waving them in front of his face. "These envelopes are, as you may clearly see, are inscribed the names of the two people you would least like to be made aware of your--shall we say _extracurricular_ activities," I tell him. "The moment you step out of line, the envelopes go out. Don't even think to say anything. It was an opportunity easily taken, a foolish weakness easily traded on. You should have gone the route of the 'public' so-called superheroes. Are we abundantly clear on this?"

"You're a sociopath, Octavius."

"No, I am decidedly not. I just want to hold this temporary alliance of ours together long enough to find May Parker with a minimum of annoyance, dissent, and bickering. Have you managed to find any leads yet, or were you distracted?"

"Hey, I'm doing all I can on my end. The supervillain who attacked me told me to have your marriage to her annulled."

"Funny thing," I tell him. "Another superpowered thug showed up here ordering me to do the same thing."

"What happened?"

"You'll find his blood and some of his teeth in the courtyard."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Peter asks.

"Of course I do. These thugs' employer has found the new owner of Rosslyn Island. He wants it for his own, and is willing to take it by force."

"As opposed to you, who took it by cunning." he adds.

"Naturally."

"Find him, find May," he tells me. "He probably kidnapped her to—either get our attention and flush us out, or try to pressure her to sign the deeds over."

"I should give you a warning, Parker: there is currently no reason the culprit would keep May alive. In fact, the artificial intelligence of my tentacles have run the statistics into their probability calculators and strongly suggest against May's survival."

"You better hope to hell your computer systems are wrong, Ock," he growls. "For _your_ sake."

Just another day in the life of Otto Octavius, called Doctor Octopus.


	10. Our Lady of Sorrows, by Peter

To Song With No Soul: I sincerely hope that after this chapter, you won't say that not much happened. But if you do, the action is only going up from here.

Read and review!

Chapter 10: Our Lady of Sorrows, by Peter

"_Never trust, you said,_

_Who put the words in your head?_

_Oh, how wrong we were to think_

_That immortality meant never dying."_

My Chemical Romance, "Our Lady of Sorrows"

_For all my efforts to shield my loved ones, my secret double life has finally caught up with me and bitten me in the ass. So let's recap: My archenemy Doctor Octopus has courted my aunt after she inherited what he really has the hots for—her late brother's nuclear reactor and uranium mine. My aunt has then married said archenemy and shortly thereafter has been kidnapped by another supervillain for greed or venality. I am forced to ally with previously mentioned archenemy, who can be trusted about as well as a rabbit can be trusted in a field of carrots, because he knows my secret identity and is blackmailing me with it. _

_I mean, my so-called "secret" identity is already known by let's see, my three biggest archfoes—Doc Ock, Green Goblin, and Venom—my ex-girlfriend Mary Jane, my current girlfriend Felicia, apparently the guys at SHIELD-CIA, and if I screw this up, my Aunt May and my boss Jameson. Pretty soon the proper question will be—"Who _doesn't_ know my secret identity?"_

_Makes you wonder why I don't just take off my mask and announce my real name on national television. At least I could get a decent ratings share. Not to mention the public seems to like the "public" heroes a lot better than, you know, "lone wolf vigilantes" like Daredevil and yours truly. I mean, I could become a celebrity! I could wrangle a better deal and have a greater influence for the movies and action figures! I'm certain the third movie wouldn't have sucked so badly if I had had my say in the script._

_But then I tell myself, what are you thinking Parker? Celebrity has its price, just as all power does. Aunt May would be forced to see all the morbid details of my battles and personal life every day on the checkout stands. Besides, wasn't my Uncle Ben killed in my short pursuit of my proverbial fifteen minutes of fame?_

_And I'm content with just three supervillains knowing my identity, thank you. I'm already in enough trouble as it is. I can't get a new job because my work record has more holes than a golf course, Dr. Connors is already on my sorry ass about my next term paper, Felicia is acting awkward around me, and it looks like my blog was hacked into yesterday. (I _thought_ there was something wrong with my hit count.) Not to mention my email inbox has been flooded with spam emails for fake Viagra under the user name of "tentacles4ever" and I've been getting reams of hate mail because the uncle has given my personal email to all the fangirl freaks from _his_ website. I didn't even _know_ a fat geek with metal tentacles sprouting out his back could _have_ fangirl freaks lusting after him. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all! Having a girlfriend who can pass out bad luck by remote control isn't exactly helping matters either. If she wasn't so hot..._

_No, I think I'm going to keep the identity secret for now. Just because I have enough crap in my life to deal with without a paparazzo taking pictures of me on the toilet through the window._

Right now, I'm paying a little visit to my old buddy Electro, now cooling his heels in a fiberglass cell in the superpowered criminal wing at Riker's Island. I've grabbed him by the collar and prepare to pound some sense into that empty head of his.

"Listen, you high-voltage heel! If I have to tear this place apart with my bare hands I will! I want to know just who your boss is, and where he's keeping the heir to the Reilly fortune!"

"Come on Spidey, I honestly don't know! Like I said, I'm just an employee!"

"You're an employee who _doesn't know who his own boss is_? Forgive me if I sound a little skeptical!"

"Hey, my boss just communicates with over the internet and one of those webcam things! I answer to this one guy, and _he_ answers to the boss! It's all very complicated!"

He's too scared to be lying. I can tell, considering I have my fist one inch from his face and my right foot one inch from his most sensitive organs. With a parting shout of "What _isn't_ complicated with you?" I prepare to leave and find that Scorpion dude Ock mentioned.

"Wait...you won't have to search so long!" Electro shouts after me.

"What do you mean, he's got two heads?"

"No, I mean he's another one of the costume super-powered freaky types. You know, like you and me."

"No I don't know."

I turn away, scrambling to the rooftop above. A few minutes of webslinging later, my spidey senses tingle and I hear a voice uncomfortably close behind me. "Who are _you_ working for, Webslinger?"

I turn to face the source of the voice, a bald-headed man in a black robotic suit trimmed with red...and fully functioning _wings_ under the arms. Nice. What this city really needs is a Supervillain Week on _Project Runway_. And don't be fooled what you saw in the movie and what he tells you—even our friend Uncle Otto, for all his classy trenchcoats and sharp white suits, isn't immune; he had his little green and orange spandex phase.

"Why do you ask?" I say.

"Why _else_ would you be so interested in the heiress to the Reilly estate?"

"She's a family friend, and I won't have supervillain assholes like you use her to get your hands on her property!"

"From what I've heard, you're a little too late on that count," he placidly tells me. "But he'll get his soon enough."

"I want to know where she is."

"According to the boss, she would have been home by now if only she had been more cooperative about signing the deeds over."

That's more than I can bear. I leap towards him, grabbing his legs as he swoops off. "If I have to pick you apart like a chicken to get to her, you buzzard, I will!" Wow, what a mixed metaphor.

And he's heading straight towards the nearest building, whipping his legs forward...

And into the wall I go, my web going slack. "Okay, I'm gonna need an ice pack..."

He's coming back for me—and he rips the web with his wings, separating me from the wall, kicking me in the gut. Okay, so flight isn't his only superpower. "Someone's been drinking their Ensure, huh?"

I slump over, and the Vulture swoops down, picking me up with one hand, rising higher and higher until I get a very unique perspective of the Manhattan city streets.

"Enjoying the view, Amazing Spider-Man?" he asks. "Or is it the Spectacular Spider-Man? Or the Sensational Spider-Man? Whatever adjective you use, it's time to say hello to the sidewalk!"

Then he lets go, and I start to fall. And since falling from two thousand feet doesn't provide enough room for a 175-pound object to reach terminal velocity, I'm going to accelerate all the way down. Which means that unless I care to become road pizza with extra spider, my only chance is to shoot a web towards the nearest building and hang on for dear life.

Oops...missed! Something tells me that with my luck, no matter how hot she is, I shouldn't be dating a girl who passes bad luck onto everyone around.

I'm falling too fast...I can't connect...

I slam into the ground, hearing the snap of an ankle, the crack of a shin, and the breaking of a few ribs and a right arm. I shouldn't complain, it could've been a lot worse. And don't worry about me, bloggers, I'm pretty tough for such a little guy and I heal fast. Within a few days of quiet recovery in bed and a lot of good food, I should be just fine. But that's the best case scenario. The actual scenario is supervillains after my hide, my ass handed to me by an old man, an aunt missing, no time to stay in bed, and my archenemy living in my house and eating all my food.

But it could always be worse, right? Not _much_ worse, I don't think that's humanly possible, but worse, right?

I limp toward the subway station, taking a nearby seat so I can bind my ankle in a web cocoon and my arm in a web sling. A little wide-eyed kid looks up at me. "Hey, are you Spider-Man?" he asks me.

I'm not in the mood for this shit. "No, I'm Captain America! Here's your sign!"

But after he leaves, a heavily pregnant woman holding a newborn comes onboard, and I gingerly stand to offer my seat, favoring my ankle by balancing my weight on my other foot. I'm just a compulsive do-gooder, aren't I?

"Say, Spider-Man," she asks, "don't you travel on some kind of spider web?"

I sigh. "Long story."

I trudge off the train, reaching the closest stop from home, slowly limping to the nearest alleyway to change into my civilian clothes.

Looking around anxiously to make sure nobody's in sight, I cautiously climb the apartment complex wall as best I can, sure that while I've been getting my rear end kicked in, Doc is probably having a grand old time planning to take over the world or something.

The house is strangely silent. "Hello?" I call. "You guys home? Felicia? Doc?"

I wander around the house, finally hearing something strange from my bedroom. I limp up the stairs, having to grip the railing due to my precarious physical condition. I throw open the door, at which point I see that the good doctor _has_ been having a grand old time—but not from plotting.

Because my uncle-slash-archenemy and my supervillain girlfriend are scrambling out of the sheets in my bed.

Because he's putting a cigar out on my nightstand with a tentacle while buttoning a black shirt with his human hands and putting on pants with two more tentacles.

And she's zipping herself into her catsuit.

I just don't know what to say. I mean, would _you_?

" ... Oh, this is just _so_ disgusting and _so_ wrong on _so_ many levels," I finally tell them.

"Oh, this is just _so_ awkward," she says, straightening her hair.

"I don't think this is exactly the best time to tell him about the superpowered thug in the pool," he says, pulling on his socks.

Just another day in the life of Peter Parker, called Spider-Man.


	11. The Good Left Undone, by Otto

Chapter 11: The Good Left Undone, by Otto

"_All because of you, I haven't slept in so long. _

_When I do I dream of drowning in the ocean; _

_Longing for the shore where I can lay my head down_

_Inside these arms of yours! _

_All because of you, I believe in Angels. _

_Not the kind with wings, no not the kind with halos; _

_The kind that bring you home when home becomes a strange place. _

_I'll follow your voice, all you have to do is shout it out!!"_

Rise Against, "The Good Left Undone"

_I, Doctor Otto Gunther Octavius, hereby confess I have violated the advice of my own inner idealist and romantic. I hereby confess that I have been completely ruled by the streams of testosterone and oxytocin flooding through my cerebral cortex. But after all, I cannot be so arrogant to say I have not acted as so many would in this situation. Throughout my life, from chubby, bowtie-wearing childhood to chubby, socially awkward adolescence to stocky, reclusive, workaholic adulthood, I have never been considered the, shall we say with slight understatement, ideal romantic partner of every woman's fantasies._

_Yes, yes, anyone who has searched my name on Google knows that I once had a girlfriend, Mary Alice, as an adolescent working as an intern at Rosslyn Energy Alternatives. My mother, who loved me in the worst way possible—my mother, who could put Joan Crawford to shame—sabotaged the relationship, manipulating my guilt and my love for her to coerce me to terminate the relationship._

_For years afterward, I wondered what life would have been like if only I was allowed to have a choice—if I had allowed myself to have a choice. I wondered what life would have been like if I had had the chance to pursue a full and normal life with her. For years afterward I tormented myself with the question—until I entered graduate school._

_Dazed by the strange setting, I stood on the front steps, where I would meet another dazed new student standing on the front steps. She was Rosalie Andrews, an auburn-haired angel making small talk with this child of clay about the theory of relativity and the poems of T.S. Eliot. But even as friendship turned to love, I stalled and shied away from my expressions of love as unfortunate J. Alfred Prufrock did, as I remembered Mary Alice Anders._

_But eventually we were married, and as I pursued my research into nuclear physics and robotics and as she earned her tenure as a professor of English Literature, we faced life together. Instead of feeling neglected by the necessities of my profession, she chose to become my unofficial lab assistant until I could complete the training of the new lab assistant. I thought our life was perfect. Some may argue that there was an empty space left by our childlessness, the unfortunate results of Rosie's prior health issues; but although Otto Octavius adored sharing his love of science with bright proteges, he did not require 'the children' to be genetically related. The computer genius intern Carolyn Trainer and the teenaged science wunderkind Peter Parker were, in his mind, his children and heirs for all intents and purposes. _

_Until, of course, The Accident—the accident that irrevocably severed the man named Otto Octavius from the monster called Doctor Octopus, that killed Otto's beloved wife Rosie, that left Otto confused, scarred, paranoid, and vulnerable._

_For years afterward, I wondered what life could have been like if I had the chance to retrace my steps through time. I wondered what would have happened if I had used a drop less tritium, if I could have maintained control of the fusion reaction. For years afterward, I wondered what life would have been like if I had had the chance to pursue a full and normal life with my family. For years I tormented myself with the question, believing I was totally unlovable; because in this society where the closest thing we have to an actual aristocracy is that chattering class known as _celebrities_, who have only their beauty to recommend them, appearances are everything. _

_Until one day, when I bought a laptop on "three-pincer discount" and out of sheer boredom, "googled" my own name. To my eternal surprise and bemusement, entire webpages and message boards were filled with otherwise sane and normal young ladies who thought me extremely attractive and would prize the chance to even kiss the hem of my trench coat. I wondered what, exactly, was my allure to them. _

_I would venture to guess that underneath all our talk of morality, no one, especially a female, could resist the charisma of the clich__é__d "bad boy," the rebel who follows no one's rules but his own. It could explain why the most distinguished character of Milton's classic _Paradise Lost_ is Lucifer, who in a memorable moment of defiance towards his Creator, says "'Tis better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven!" _

_I wonder whether it is this that Felicia feels. I wonder whether her attraction to me is simply a function of a female's admiration for a celebrity male she does not know, a common occurence commonly called a "crush" in the adolescent's parlance. I wonder if she, as well as those young ladies on the online shrines to me, deludes herself that she sees some good quality deep in me that no one else can._

_After all, I merely saved her life for the purposes of expediency. After all, I am forced to ally with her medding fool of a boyfriend to protect our common interests. It would not serve this interest to let the Scorpion mar this overly promiscuous bleached blonde's pretty face. _

_She was a woman who defied the morals of society to serve her own ends, what the public calls a criminal, a supervillain. In short, the complete and total opposite of Parker, who serves the interests of all else save his own to protect society and defend their morality. She should have recognized that cynical purpose in my good deed. But instead she carries me into the apartment, sits in my lap and sponges my face. _

_The bandage properly secured, she insisted—no, half dragged me, upstairs into the room that once served as Peter's bedroom. She pushed me onto the bed, ripping open the zipper on my trench coat. _

_I wanted to briefly take traditional morality into account. I said, "I'm flattered, Miss Felicia, but I'm a married man."_

"_Who are you trying to convince, Otto, me or yourself? We both know why you married May Parker."_

"_Point taken." I said, while she busied herself from wriggling out of her costume. _

"_Stop talking and kiss me, Otto," she told me, as one of my actuators removed my socks and my human hands fumbled with my pants. _

_Now, I understand fully that not only is this account is on a publicly viewed blog and some standards of decency must be met, but it serves no useful purpose to demand that my dear friends and fans be forced to serve as cheap voyeurs. This account, after all, is just that, and I do not intend to titillate the web-surfing masses. Thus I shall leave it to your imaginations to picture the rest. _

After the horizontal gymnastics are finished, I retrieve a cigar from the pocket of my coat and hear a shout from downstairs.

"Hello? You guys home? Felicia? Otto?"

"You bottle blonde ditz," I address Miss Hardy, "get dressed!"

But Parker stands in the doorway, his arm bound in a sling made of his spider web and and ankle bound in a cocoon of the same material. "Have a nice time, young Parker?"

He snarls at me. "No, but it sure looks like _you_ have!"

"Now, surely you can understand that when a male and female work closely together for long periods of time, a feeling of sexual tension tends to develop."

"This is _so_ disgusting and _so_ wrong on _so _many levels!"

"Careful, Parker, about what you say about my appearance," I tell him, rubbing out the cigar on the nightstand. "Your juvenile insults might just drive me to break your _other_ arm and ankle—or at least break out those envelopes. However, you might be pleased to find that the Scorpion is facedown in the courtyard swimming pool as we speak."

He had returned a few minutes after his previous attack, and learned the hard lesson about the futility of challenging Doctor Octopus. I had finished him off within two minutes, impaling him with an actuator. Then I had dumped him into the courtyard swimming pool until I could think of something better to do with him. I should have put him in the Dumpster.

He stomps away, ignoring me.

"Thank you for the nice long _chat_," I tell him, hoping that he can at least comprehend sarcasm. "I really _enjoy_ these nice long uncle-nephew talks!"

But he refuses to pay attention or even look at me. He looks out the window. I snap at him, annoyed by the lack of basic decency. How he could have sprung from the same family tree as the genteel and unfailingly polite May is one of the great mysteries of the genetic code. "What on earth are you staring at—"

Outside the window is a bald old man in a black robotic suit trimmed in red—with of all things, a pair of steel-feathered wings under the arms. While hovering outside the balcony as a hummingbird in midair, he holds a sign.

_Bring out the fat freak to the rooftop_

Parker turns to me. "I guess that would be—"

"Me," I tell him. "The least you could do for all our benefit is use different jokes."

I steadily climb to the rooftop, observing that to my immense chagrin and annoyance that Parker is following me, favoring his arm and ankle.

I address the superpowered old buzzard. "I take it that we are not here to discuss Barack Obama's chances at a presidential campaign."

"We've hit a snag, Octavius. Under community property laws, even though May Parker signed away her deed to her share of Reilly Energy Alternatives, you own the other half of it. And my employer is not interested in owning just _half_ of a nuclear breeder."

"Well, it appears _your employer _will simply have to shop for his real estate deals elsewhere."

"I thought you might say something like that. That's why we're making an offer you can't refuse. Either your signature goes on those papers or May's brains do. Your choice."

I decide to call the old man's bluff. "I do nothing until I receive proof of May's survival."

The old man merely pulls out a cell phone, dials a number, hands it to me. "Put it on speakerphone," Parker tells me.

"Oliver? Peter? Are you two alright?" May's voice is heard over the phone. "Are you two getting along?"

"Splendidly, my dear May," I tell her. "I'm—_we're_ coming over. We're going to bring you home."

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine—" she says, before the old man snatches the cell phone out of my hands.

"Now, _Oliver_, in five minutes exactly, a helicopter will land on this rooftop to take us to Rosslyn Island. Just you and me, Doc. Understand?"

Parker frowns. _Do not make this harder, Parker, _I think. _For the sake of your aunt, do not open your mouth and complicate things._ I merely nod. "Agreed."

My answer is drowned by the present whirring of a helicopter's rotary blades. I follow the old bird into the helicopter, leaving Parker and his girlfriend to resolve their differences alone.

But I am certain of one thing—I will not surrender Rosslyn. Nor will I abandon May. I struggle with my conflicted feelings towards her...

Just another day in the life of Otto Octavius, called Doctor Octopus.


	12. Working Class Hero, by Peter

To my readers: Don't get mad at me, I _did _tell you there was going to be some action, didn't I? The Trickster didn't exactly explain what _kind_ of action I meant, right?

Happy reading!

Chapter 12: Working Class Hero

"_They hurt you at home and they hit you at school_

_They hate you if you're clever and despise a fool_

_Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules_

_A working class hero is something to be."_

John Lennon, "Working Class Hero"

_So here we are, at the climax of my story, on the rooftop of my Aunt May's apartment complex with my supervillainess girlfriend and my mad scientist archenemy, listening raptly to the demands of who must be the world's oldest supervillain, an old man hovering in the air on robotic wings. Otto has to listen to him. He has to. It's our only hope to save May, and if he fucks this up, I will find him and I will kill him. I just hope Otto doesn't try to call his bluff and dare him to do something._

I see Otto agree to the Vulture's demands. _Well, never thought that he was the kind of man to back down. _But then again, I am telling you a story about that enigmatic and complex mixture of humanity and hardware known as Doctor Octopus. He always does the last thing a superhero would expect.

But I know one thing, I'm not going to leave my aunt's life in the hands of these maniacs without a fight. Broken bones or not, at least I'll meet my end like a man. For what have I to lose? As the helicopter rises into the air, I fling a webline to the bottom of the helicopter and hang on for dear life, all the while having a sinking feeling that I'm going to end up with a dislocated shoulder on top of all my other injuries.

Well, I might as well enjoy the trip to Canada. Even though the accommodations leave a lot to be desired, and I don't even get peanuts and an inflight movie. Then again, I don't get the third degree from airport screeners who take away my shampoo and nail clippers. So it pretty much evens out.

Around the Canadian border, my spidey-sense rings and I distantly hear voices from the helicopter. The Vulture seems impatient. "Why aren't we moving faster, you idiot?"

A female voice answers him. She must be the pilot. "I'm trying, Mr. Toomes, but the only problem seems to be that we might be carrying extra weight—"

Otto's voice next. "What on earth are you speaking of—Oh, I should have known. It looks like we may have a _stowaway_. Permit me to take care of it."

I feel the web fraying, my grip on the helicopter loosening. I squint and see a blade popping out of one of the tentacles, sawing away at my web.

Oh no. Oh _no. _Oh _shit._

"Well, I believe that should eliminate your difficulty, Miss," Otto says, and the webline snaps.

_What about _my_ difficulty?_ I think. _I'm a mile above the Canadian/American border, and there's nothing around to grab with another webline!_

Thinking as quickly as I can, I spin myself a parachute, thanking God, Christ, Moses, Allah, Buddha, and even a few pagan gods I can think of that I remembered to load up on the spiderweb cartridges.

I slowly drift down into a clearing when I hear voices coming towards me from a few yards to the north. "Halt!" the voice calls, and I see a Canadian Mountie, horse, red jacket, funny hat, and all, riding towards me. "Aren't you that Spider-Man outlaw?"

I don't need to deal with questions now. I have other garbage to take care of. "I didn't know the _Daily Bugle_ had Canadian subscribers," I tell them. "I respect law enforcement and all, but I'm not going to put my head on the chopping block! It's not much, but it's the only head I have and I'd like to keep it on my shoulders!"

I leap over him, actually hop over him one-legged to spare the broken shin, wondering what to do next. I typically transport myself by swinging on my spiderweb, of course, but there's nothing but trees all around. Hey, I'm Spider-Man, not Tarzan.

My spidey sense once more shows me the way, a memory of reading a book about hang gliders in junior high flashing before my eyes. As fast as I can shoot, I start building a rudimentary hang glider, knowing the wind direction could take me all the way to Rosslyn Island if it keeps going. Holding the glider and getting into position, I run up the nearest steep hill at full speed, webbing myself a safety belt. I hope that the winds are strong—my webs only keep together for around an hour. I need to keep this flight on the short side.

"Geronimo!" I shout as the current lifts me up as I run off the hill. "Sitting Bull! Crazy Horse! Pocahontas!" Approximately fifty minutes later, I pull out the map, identifying the small island I float above. Rosslyn!

Of course, I wasn't really considering exactly _where_ or _how_ I was going to land this thing—and I'm already five minutes away from finding out the hard way. And if I keep going, pretty soon my webbing is going to go kaput right over the Atlantic Ocean. Not a pretty picture. I'm going to have to bail out—now! I let go of the glider, and seeing the building below, I shoot my web towards it and prepare to obey the infallible call of gravity.

Fortunately for you bloggers, I have a reasonably soft landing. Unfortunately for me, that's because I seem to have landed in the only dumpster in Rosslyn Island. I sit up, holding my breath so I don't puke into my mask. _Oh, fuck me._ _Just my frickin Parker luck. _

But then Lady Luck smiles on me, for once in my life. Usually she just kicks me in the chops, knees me in the privates, and flips me the single-finger salute. But now, I see the helicopter is parked on the rooftop of the Rosslyn Energy Alternatives nuclear plant, and next to the breeder a quarter-mile away is a small summer cabin. _That must be where our mystery man is holding May!_

I run towards the cabin, planning to find May and find a way to sneak her out without letting anyone know, including Vulture, Electro, their mystery boss, and especially Octopus.

And then I look in the cabin window and see a welcome sight. Aunt May sits on a bed, reading a magazine while a huge blond man pours her tea.

I faintly hear her voice through the glass. "Thank you, Mr. O'Hirn."

"Call me Alex. Are you ready to sign the papers yet, Mrs. Octavius?"

I grit my teeth at hearing my aunt called by that name. But I listen some more anyway.

"I'm sorry, but I still haven't made my decision. I can't make such a financial decision like this lightly."

"I'm on the bottom of the company ladder, Mrs. Octavius. My boss is gonna be pretty mad at me."

This O'Hirn guy walks out of the room, and I tap on the window. "Surprise!"

"Spider-Man!" she cries.

"Peter Parker called me as soon as he could reach me. I've come to take you home."

"Where is my husband?" she asks.

"He's—" And then I hear my spidey-senses tingle once more. I wonder why, with all the enemies I have, my spidey sense isn't _constantly_ ringing, nonstop.

I leap out of the way—half a second too slow with my broken leg. A flash of light, a faint crackling sound, and a sharp pain hits me and I slump to the ground, the last words I hear coming from Electro—

"Well, well. I guess you really did want to meet the boss. I'll have to take you to him in person."

I feel two strong hands under my arms and feel my butt scraping the ground as I am dragged in the direction of the nuclear reactor—

Then I surrender to the blackness.

Just another day in the life of Peter Parker, called Spider-Man.


	13. Into the Ocean, by Otto

Only two more chapters after this, folks! Don't miss your chance to read and review this soon-tp-be-classic remake of an already classic storyline! Read and review!

Chapter 13: Into the Ocean, by Otto

"_Now waking to the sun_

_I calculate what I have done_

_Like jumping from the bow, yeah_

_Just to prove that I knew how, yeah_

_It's midnight's late reminder of_

_The loss of her, the one I love_

_My will to quickly end it all_

_Set front row in my need to fall_

_Into the ocean, end it all_

_Into the ocean, end it all..."_

_Blue October, "Into the Ocean"_

_And now we reach the climax of the story, my dear friends and fans, as I prepare to fight for my lawfully wedded wife—not to mention my rightful property—or die with them. _

_The power of the sun, once more in the palm of my hand. The biogenerated voices of my actuators whisper to me, telling me that this all will be worth it. Of course it will. Your future children will think so as well, as they look at the yellowing newspapers and magazines, wondering why their unfortunate elders fought so much, paid so much, sacrificed so much for a few gallons of distilled dinosaur remains. They will read the _Time _and _Newsweek _articles of their past wondering with alarm what would happen when the petroleum finally ran out, possibly as they walk past a marble statue depicting a preferably idealized image of myself—of Octavius, the great nuclear physicist who freed his society of its dependency on petroleum and all the singularly messy entanglements with the dictators who controlled it. Of Octavius, the great nuclear physicist who for daring to fight for his grand ideas and for his unusual powers and appearance, was persecuted as a freak and a common criminal by the powers that be, just as Galileo was._

The helicopter now hovers above the beautiful Rosslyn Island, fifteen miles due east off the Canadian coast and five miles north of the Canadian/American border. The pilot sights the rooftop of what looks like the Reilly Energy Alternatives nuclear reactor and prepares to land.

Vulture pushes me toward the entrance to the breeder. "You might as well meet the new owner of Reilly Enterprises, Octavius," he tells me. I see from across the room a shadowed figure, flanked by two dark-suited men—most likely bodyguards from their looks, their faces all jaw and cheekbones.

The shadowed figure steps into the light, a tall, broad-shouldered figure in shining green armor and a grotesque mask. Over his shoulder a messenger bag is slung and under his left arm he carries a silvery blade of a rocket mechanism.

"Osborn," I simply recognize.

"Octavius," he simply replies.

"I had attempted to buy Reilly Enterprises from its founder and owner, Nathan Reilly, for years, but he always turned me down. When I heard that he finally died, leaving his extensive property to his sister, I scarcely expected that she would turn out to be the aunt of our common enemy, Octavius," he tells me. "I expected even less that you would attempt to take over Reilly Enterprises legally by seducing the new owner. I mean, I heard a wild tale about it at the local bar from a minister on vacation from Las Vegas, but I thought he was just pickled up to his ears at the time—until very recently. Never took you for a businessman."

"That's because I am not."

"You think that just because you're a _genius_, a _brilliant nuclear physicist_, that you are capable of managing a resource worth millions of dollars?" Goblin mocks. "When 'Otto Octavius Incorporated' was hovering near bankruptcy before _my_ company OsCorp bailed you out? You took my money and blew it up! You owe me!"

"I owe you nothing," I remain defiant. "Consider it one of your poorer investment decisions!"

And then Electro bursts in the room, dragging that impertinent nephew of mine. "Hey boss, look what I found crawling around the woodwork."

The bug slowly comes to, shaking his head. "What—?" Then he manages to stand up, barely concealed anger lacing his voice. "Green Goblin!"

"That's right! Dillon, call O'Hirn and tell him to bring May in!"

A few uncomfortable minutes later, my wife is escorted into the breeder by a large blond man wearing a gray sweatshirt. The Goblin cackles. "May Parker, meet your husband—Dr. Otto Octavius!"

May gasps, sudden recognition dawning. "_You—_"

Goblin's sadistic delight is only increased by seeing May's reaction. He laughs even louder. "It seems your husband is quite famous in New York City," he tells her. "But of course, his stage name there is _Doctor Octopus_!"

May shouts at me. "You—you _lied_ to me!"

"You would have never accepted me otherwise!"

"You should have trusted me!"

"Hey," the impertinent wallcrawler finally says, "I'm gonna leave you green-suited clowns to your own devices! All I'm concerned about is Peter Parker's aunt and getting her out unharmed—even if I have to tear your limbs apart and stuff them up your assholes!"

Filled with regret over the possibilities of what could have been, I shout my own Miltonian defiance at Osborn. "My previous encounters with her notwithstanding, I shall defend this sweet, gentle woman to my last breath, Osborn! It was Otto Octavius who got her into this situation undeserved—and it shall be I who gets her _out_ of it!"

"That's kind of like a fox offering to guard a henhouse, Ock!" the bug interjects. "I just can't help but suspect your motives!"

"Very well, Octopus!" Goblin shouts, cutting off the bug. "I was hoping it wouldn't come down to a fight! Dillon, Toomes, what the hell are you waiting for, Christmas?"

Toomes, the winged old man, is the first to charge. "Lay into him, Dillon! The boss is going to skin us alive if he escapes!"

I order the actuators to shoot towards him, the pincers on each arm folding to form a ball. "Don't bother worrying about your Halloween-costumed employer flaying you, old fool! Better to worry about Doctor Octopus!"

The actuator gives him a glancing blow as he starts to soar into the air, but the actuator spots something, its artificially intelligent "thoughts" transmitting a possibility of what to do.

Another actuator grasps him by the ankle, dragging me up through the air. Regaining my bearings quickly, another actuator smashes into a pack-like apparatus on his back. My intuitions were correct—the apparatus apparently contains some sort of magnetic anti-gravity generator. Once it is gone, the wings are useless. He flaps them frantically, with all the results of an ostrich doing the same thing.

"You know, you old buzzard," I tell him, sinking a pincer into the ground to drag him towards _terra firma_. "I _could_ make a reference to the myth of Icarus, but I have serious doubts as to whether a dolt such as you could understand the analogy." I cannot risk, however, smashing him into the floor, as the slightest sonic vibration could only portend ill for an active nuclear breeder. So I simply start beating him around the head with an actuator while another dangles him in the air.

Then, seeing Goblin and the man named Dillon distracted as they pursue Spider-Man, I see my chance to solve several problems at once. Tossing the old buzzard aside, I gently scoop May up in my human arms, and flee to the nearest exit, using the actuators to crawl out.

The webslinger notices me, and shouts after me, betraying my position. "Hey! Doc!"

"I shall take May Parker to safety!" I shout back. "You are in no condition to be trusted with this lady's life!"

"Like I'm really in condition to be jumped by _these_ two jokers—" I do not look back, not caring to notice what finally shut him up, at least temporarily.

And then I hear Goblin's voice. "Dillon—keep after the bug! I'll go after the squid crawling off with the heiress!"

From my peripheral vision, I see Osborn rearing up from the glider from behind me. "Osborn!" I warn him. "Be _careful_, you cretinous clown! We are in an active nuclear breeder! The slightest vibration could set off a chain reaction!"

He only cackles at me. "Big words, Octavius! But all your scientific doubletalk doesn't fool me a bit! Your number's up today!"

A frightened May Parker impulsively wraps her arms around my neck, then looks horrified at herself for doing it. Seizing the opportunity, I start, "Dearest May, if we get out of this alive, I apologize, I apologize for everything—"

But the glider and its sinister driver swerves toward me, and my lovely actuators, perceiving the threat, sidestep me away, one of them lashing out to strike out at the glider, batting it away and, it seems, automatically shutting it off. "You fool!" I shout at him. "You'll end up destroying us all!"

Naturally, the glider starts to malfunction, spinning out of control while gravity and centrifugal forces from the sudden stop unceremoniously pitches its occupant headfirst into a control panel. Not a good sign.

All that can be seen of the Green Goblin is two kicking legs sticking up out of a large hole. The scene would be almost comedic if it were not so deadly serious and if the accident did _not_ involve active radioactive material. The only fortunate thing I could think of is that the reactor _didn't _explode on impact. Unfortunately, though, _this_ costumed cretin _has_ set off the chain reaction I feared.

"I know you're there, Octavius, I can hear your voice!" he shouts, voice muffled. "Get me out of here! I'm _stuck_!"

Knowing the danger the most out of all of these people, I speed up my exit. "You got yourself _into_ this, Osborn—feel free now to get yourself _out_!"

Just another day in the life of Otto Octavius, called Doctor Octopus.


	14. Never Too Late, by Peter

Only the epilogue left after this, Loyal Minions!

To Song With No Soul: I know all about Molina's role in "Dudley Do-Right." That's why I make the joke, friend. Check your inbox.

Chapter 14: Never Too Late, by Peter

"_No one will ever see_

_This side reflected_

_And if there's something wrong_

_Who would have guessed it?_

_And I have left alone_

_Everything that I own_

_To make you feel like_

_It's not too late, it's never too late."_

Three Days Grace, "Never Too Late"

_I deduced that my girlfriend, the Black Cat, had the power to cause bad luck early on in our relationship. What I didn't figure out until later is that she seems to pass it on to everyone else she encounters whether they're an enemy or not. Including me and apparently now including Uncle Otto here. _

_So just to get you bloggers up to speed, Uncle Otto and I had arrived on Rosslyn Island, for our final confrontation with Vulture and Electro; and we've just found out that their boss, as well as Scorpion's, is none other than the Green Goblin, who's trying to take over the breeder as one more of his investments. Apparently, the variables he _didn't _take into account is that the heiress to the Reilly estate is his superhero enemy's aunt—or that the heiress' new husband is his supervillain enemy. _

_The Vulture had gone after Octopus, who had gotten to May and was hightailing the hell out of there with her. In this situation, it doesn't even matter anymore that the only reason Ock had married her, the only reason he was now saving her, was because of Rosslyn Island. He's saving her. That's all I need to know. Right now I have other things to worry about. Like Goblin and Electro after my sorry ass._

_Otto had made short work of the Vulture, disabling whatever systems helped him fly. Thank God he's on my side. I'd hate to think what would happen to me if he was my archenemy._

_It took all the willpower I had in me just to avoid being killed by Electro's lightning bolts and Goblin's razor batwings. But my reactions were drastically slowed because my broken bones haven't yet healed themselves, and Goblin started swinging at me with what looks like the Grim Reaper's scythe with a laser energy blade. _

_I knew that laser weaponry had been in secret development in OsCorp for some time now. I _do_ read the papers, you know. My mind suddenly flashes to an image of Black Cat's laser claws—_

_Could she be working for Osborn? He was the mastermind of this whole thing, after all. She only came into my life at around the time Otto began to date May. _

_Maybe she was his agent, his spy, who when Otto and I forged our fragile alliance, seduced him as well as me to turn us against each other—_

_Well, this is just idle speculation, you know. Takes my mind off the fact that I had already been gashed by razor batwings in several places and my costume is going to be totally trashed by the time I'm through here. Takes my mind off the fact that I had (thankfully minor) electrical burns in several places from Electro and if not for my spider-strength, I'd be one crispy little critter. Takes my mind that Goblin and Electro were acting in perfect concert, Goblin trying to keep me on the ground, knowing Electro couldn't touch me in the air, which is as I already said once, a pretty good insulator. _

_I always tell myself it could always get worse. It's one of the only ways I can cope with my good old fashioned Parker luck. But now, I don't have an earthly clue how things could get any worse than they are now. _

_But then I saw a reprieve. Goblin fell away from me on his glider, choosing to go after Octopus and May instead. _

_Wait! That's not right! I'd rather let Octopus out of sight with May than Goblin! Goblin is the one most motivated to kill any competition standing in his way of full ownership of Rosslyn._

"_Hey, Doc!" I called. "Let me take May out of here!"_

"_I shall take May Parker to safety!" he shouted at me. "You are clearly in no condition to be trusted with this lady's life!"_

_Hey, I _was_ able to hold off two supervillains at once, even with several broken bones, sprains, strains, bruises, burns, and cuts. "Like I'm really in condition to be jumped by _these_ two jokers!"_

_I was really too busy with Electro to see exactly what Goblin and Ock were doing. But I _did_ hear Otto shout, "Be _careful_, you cretinous clown! We are in an active nuclear breeder! The slightest vibration could set off a chain reaction!"_

_I _did_ hear a jarring _slam_ into a control panel. _

_I _did _hear Octavius' warning: "You fool! You'll end up destroying us all!"_

_I _did_ hear Osborn's muffled shout, "I know you're there, Octavius, I can hear your voice! Get me out of here! I'm _stuck_!"_

_And I _did_ hear the receding clanks of four metal tentacles and Otto's retort: "You got yourself _into_ this, Osborn—feel free now to get yourself _out_!"_

_Well, Uncle Otto has his faults—oh, let me count the ways—but you've gotta admit, in the field of nuclear physics, the man definitely knows what he's talking about. And if he's running from an active nuclear breeder, you'd better catch up to him. _

Which is what I'm doing now, as best as I can with a bum leg while Electro calls after me, "Hey you coward, get back here!"

"I'm brave, Electro, not _stupid_! You'd better learn the difference before you evaporate! Didn't you hear Doc Octopus back there?"

In a hallway near the back of the plant and with that idiot Electro finally in hot pursuit, I finally catch up to Uncle Otto. "How long do we have before the place goes up in smoke?"

He's holding my aunt in his human arms, and whether sleeping or fainted from the stress, she's pressed up against him, arms looped around his neck. At that moment, I hate them both. _She knows who he is now and why he's in her life and she _still _loves him the way she does? One of the great mysteries in the world, along with how Stonehenge was built. _

"The chain reaction will go off any minute," he informs me. "Do you have a way to get off this island?"

"After you cut my webline," I tell him, "I made a hang glider out of spiderweb and rode the wind currents here. Needless to say, my web-producing glands are temporarily exhausted from that and the stress from healing my other injuries. Not to mention the winds are unfavorable for heading back."

He merely nods. "I once thought, you being an intelligent but immature young man, you built yourself a refillable, mechanical bracelet-like device to shoot synthetic spiderwebs out. Oh well. There is still an emergency escape hatch only a few meters ahead. I will head there. But a few meters back, Green Goblin's glider transport is laying next to the control panel. You'll be able to use it to speed May to safety. Only permit me one favor before you go."

"I still trust you as far as I can throw you, Ock." I say. "But you _did _fight for May Parker. You _did_ save her life. Ask whatever favor you want and I'll find a way."

"Nothing so complex as _that_, wallcrawler," he tells me. "A very simple one. Tell your aunt the truth about your double life as a vigilante who parades about in spandex underwear. My viewpoints on traditional morality notwithstanding, I will not be lectured in integrity by a hypocrite."

I don't know what to say. I just don't.

"Swear it before I hand my wife over to your care. Swear it before God."

"Do you even _believe_ in God, Otto?"

"That does not matter. The fact that _you_ obviously believe in God _does_. Swear that you will tell her the truth she is entitled to hear and swear to take care of her as she deserves."

"I swear to God, Otto, I will," I agree. "But _I_ will not be lectured in morality by a supervillain."

"Very well then. Fate has given you a reprieve, then, from Doctor Octopus. But only a temporary one. Someday, I _will_ return for you with your just deserts."

"I'll be waiting, but you'll forgive me if I don't hold my breath," I tell him. Are you sure this plan of yours will work?"

He just sighs, and gently hands my sleeping aunt to me, tossing Goblin's glider toward me with a tentacle. I catch it easily without disturbing her. "If you doubt whether it will," he says, looking over his shoulder at me, "you obviously do not know Otto Octavius!"

Just another day in the life of Peter Parker, called Spider-Man.


	15. Epilogue: The View in the End

The Writer Formerly Known as the Trickster extends her fond farewells with one or two final twists...until the next thrilling story!

Epilogue: In the End, by Otto

"_Things aren't the way they were before_

_You wouldn't even recognize me anymore_

_Not that, you knew me back then _

_But it all comes back to me_

_In the end_

_I kept everything inside_

_And even though I tried, it all fell apart _

_What is meant to be _

_Will eventually be a memory of a time_

_I tried so hard, and got so far_

_But in the end, it doesn't even matter_

_I had to fall, to lose it all_

_But in the end, it doesn't even matter..."_

Linkin Park, "In the End"

_Of course, I know intellectually that Parker might choose to break the promise he swore to me before his silent God. But I _know_ Parker, and I know he will keep his oath. Why, you ask, my dear readers? Because Parker clings to his ideals as he clings to walls—almost nothing can pull him off. He has proven himself always ready to sacrifice himself for them, for what he knows as simple human decency, for what I know as traditional morality._

_But I too have ideals—ideals which I am always ready to sacrifice lesser men for. I think the ends justify the means; he thinks the means are as important as the ends, thereby blunting any effectiveness he might have in fulfilling his own ideals. _

_The idealistic and the practical. Perhaps someday, Parker will realize that in all the essential aspects, we're not as different as he would make us out to be. _

_And perhaps someday I will understand why even though everything is truly a shade of gray, some things should remain black and white._

I race towards the emergency shaft, using my actuators to speed back through the hallway.

Osborn is still stuck in the control panel. Good. He deserves whatever he gets. "I can hear your tentacles clanking around, Octavius!" he shouts. "Blast you, get back here and help me out!"

I ignore him, finally reaching the shaft.

When I get there, the lid is propped open, and I see the man Osborn called Dillon crawling in, muttering, "Ha, I figured there'd be some escape hatch or emergency exit or something in this joint in case it went haywire—"

Oh, I won't stand for _this_. With an actuator's pincers, I pick Dillon up by the collar, pluck him out of the shaft, and throw him on top of his employer. "Stand aside, you microcephalic miscreant," I address him, "and let your intellectual superior pass!"

"Hey!" Dillon yells, "that shaft is my only chance!"

"Correction, Dillon," I tell him, wrapping my actuators around myself for protection, "_Was_ your only chance! Now it's mine!"

Stretching and coiling my actuators around me from head to toe as a defensive cocoon, I shut the lid, and pray to Parker's silent God to save me in one piece.

And at precisely that moment, Rosslyn Island vanished off the map in a blaze of thermonuclear fire.

I look up to see the shaft opening, and I am rather unceremoniously dumped into the ocean, my actuators uncoiling and madly paddling towards the nearest stretch of shore.

And when I find myself washed up on the coast of Rhode Island an hour later, I shield my eyes from the sun and distantly spot Parker and May sitting safely on the shore. He has pulled his mask off and seems to be talking to her. She nods her head, seemingly accepting.

_Well,_ I think, _I was right. Which is an experience as predictable as the sun rising, but it _is_ difficult to improve on perfection. _

My reverie is interrupted by a morbidly obese, drunken brown-haired man in glasses and swimming trunks, accompanied by a lovely redhaired wife, their white dog, a chubby blonde teenage son, and a chubby brunette teenage daughter also wearing glasses and holding a small toddler. "Hey," the man says, "get lost. We're fishing here."

I briefly contemplate the manifold pleasures of throttling the fat man for daring to speak in such a way to Doctor Octopus. But those pleasures can wait.

Overhead a few miles south, I spot a shining green helicopter, bearing the insignia of OsCorp Industries, hovering ahead. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Norman Osborn had escaped from the burning wreck of Rosslyn Island in his personal helicopter, I look around to find a few metal trash cans. They are not much, but in the arms of Doctor Octopus and with a suitable motivation, any innocent object, from a yellow taxi door on down, can be used as a weapon of revenge.

Using an actuator, I pick up one trash can, hurtling it towards the direction of the helicopter's rotor blade. The first trash can I throw is overshot too long; the second falls short, but finding the range with the assistance of my actuators' artificial intelligence systems, the third trash can hits the rotor blades, separating it from the main body of the aircraft with deadly accuracy and my bitter vengeance.

I smile as the disabled helicopter, with Norman Osborn presumably inside, falls to the waiting waters of the Atlantic Ocean, and explodes on impact.

Using my actuators, I make my way back to May's unnoticed. Felicia is gone as well, to parts unknown. I light the fireplace, and toss the two hidden envelopes I had created to ensure Parker's cooperation into the flames. I carefully write May a letter.

_My dearest May:_

_I regret that I must take my leave of you at this time. You make me want to become a better person, a person whom I will never be. I will never be the kind of man whom you deserve, for life with me will always be fraught with danger, lies, and the shadow of my destiny. I cannot tell you where I am going, how I am going to get there, or what I am going to do once I arrive, for I do not know myself. All I know is that whenever I see roses in bloom, I will remember the gentle nature and unconditional love of a woman who is more than I will ever deserve. _

_Dr. Otto Octavius_

I seal the letter inside the envelope, inscribing it with _To May Parker_, gently place it on her bedroom's dresser, and climb out of the window as carefully as I came in.

I hail a taxi, retracting my actuators underneath my coat. Opening a newspaper, I see that there seems to be an important scientific conference at Empire State University that I should like to visit, including some very interesting inventions and equipment I should like to see...

I fiddle with my wedding ring, and tell the driver, "Take me to the university convention center. I have some business there..."

**Finis**

Coda: The View, by Peter

"_As life gets longer, awful feels softer,_

_Well it feels pretty soft to me._

_And if it takes shit to make bliss,_

_Well I feel pretty blissfully._

_If life's not beautiful without the pain,_

_Well I just would rather never ever see beauty again._

_For every good deed, there has already been a crime committed._

_For every step we take, we might as well been seated!"_

Modest Mouse, "The View"

_I'm letting you guys know right now, this blog is now on indefinite hiatus. You know why as well as I do. I've failed to live up to my own standards again. I've formed this relationship with you, my fans, and I don't even know who you really are. I've been talking to an image, just as you have. And for that image, I neglected my job, my schoolwork, my family. For that image, I neglected to realize until too late that while I was so busy looking out the front door for enemies after my loved ones, my archenemy was able to sneak into the back window._

_Power always has its price. Even if you manage to escape its corrupting influence to follow the path of a superhero, it will cost you everything you hold dear. Including your relationships with all the ones you love, your family and friends._

_I thought I was keeping her safe, when I was really keeping her in the dark. I thought I was protecting her by denying her that dangerous knowledge, when I was only denying her the power to make her own choices about how to handle it, denying her my confidence that she could. But the truth will always out. I can't believe it took a broken alliance with Doctor Octopus and battles with all those other supervillains to do it. I should be grateful that only May knows about my secret now, as opposed to the whole world. _

_I enter the bedroom carefully on my crutches, knocking first. She sits on her bed, head in hands. I sit next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders. _

"_I know this is hard for you," I say, swinging the leg with the cast onto the bed. _

"_What can I say, Peter?" she asks, holding a letter in her hands. "I just found out that I've been lied to constantly. I just found I've been played for a gullible old fool. I thought I was pretty damn street-smart for an old lady. Smarter than what I proved to be, at any rate."_

"_Octopus won't hurt you anymore, Aunt May," I tell her. "I'll make sure of it."_

_She turns to look at me. "I'm not talking about Otto, dear."_

_I walk out of the room, head hung, and feel my cell phone vibrating in my pocket. That ringtone can only mean one thing. Felicia!_

_I hurry out to the courtyard to take it. "Spidey speaking," I whisper._

"_You're—you're _what_? Pregnant? Look, I'll do right by the kid. I'm not the richest man in the world, but nobody's going to have any reason to call me the Amazing Spider-Deadbeat. I promise you."_

_What she says next nearly makes me drop the phone. I lose it. I just lose it._

"_What! You were having sex with him at the same time?!"_

_What is it with my girlfriends banging my archenemies? First Gwen and Goblin, now this, hell if Mary Jane isn't screwing Venom right now. Just my Parker luck, I guess. Or maybe not..._

_I see someone else, who had apparently invited herself in the complex, step out of the shadows of the courtyard's willow tree, the sunshine dancing on her dark red hair—_

"_Mary Jane!"_

_She just laughs and pulls a Sharpie from her purse, scribbling her name on my cast. "Face it tiger, you just hit the jackpot! Just think, when I become a famous supermodel and actress, you can sell that thing on eBay."_

_Well, I'm sure all you bloggers enjoyed this little story but right now I have a _lot_ of recovering to do, previously neglected loved ones to spend time with, another situation to take care of, and a score to settle..._

**Finis**


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